


Buffy The Viking.

by steeleye



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Erick the Viking, The Thirteenth Warrior
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover fic BtVS with ‘Erik the Viking’ and ‘The Thirteenth Warrior’, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeleye/pseuds/steeleye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legends tell of an age when Fenrir the Wolf would swallow the sun. It was to be an axe age, a sword age, a storm age, when brother would fight brother, until the world was finally destroyed and to this age would come...Buffy the Viking! Warnings for sex, violence, death and destruction...come on, this a story with Vikings in it, what do you expect?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Buffy the Viking.

By Steeleye.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the movies ‘Erik the Viking’ and ‘The Thirteenth Warrior’. Neither do I claim authorship of any scripted words you might find in this work of fiction. I write these stories for fun not profit.

 **Crossover:** BtVS with ‘Erik the Viking’ and ‘The Thirteenth Warrior’.

 **Spelling, Punctuation, and Grammar;** Written in glorious English-English which is different to American-English..

 **Timeline:** Post BtVS season 5, pre season 6.

 **Words:** Thirteen chapters of 2500+ words.

 **Warnings:** Swords and axes are not toys; they have sharp edges that may cause serious injury, or even death, if used correctly.

 **Summary:** Legends tell of an age when Fenrir the Wolf would swallow the sun. It was to be an axe age, a sword age, a storm age, when brother would fight brother, until the world was finally destroyed and to this age would come...Buffy the Viking!

0=0=0=0

_All you need to do is take_  
One step into the sky.  
Give yourself to gravity,  
Give death another try. 

Turning away from Dawn, Buffy paused for just a moment before she started her run towards the rising sun. Her long strides soon took her to the end of the platform; stepping off Glory’s tower, she leapt into thin air and fell towards the portal that glowed beneath her. As she fell she felt the weight of the world being lifted from her shoulders, she heard the wind rushing in her ears and a loud, calm, female voice that seemed to fill the entire universe.

“…and now the marks for artistic interpretation…” The voice started to recite numbers. “Eight point five, eight point seven, eight point…”

Slowly the voice faded away and Buffy found herself caressed by a soft, warm, blackness and for a time a feeling of utter peace surrounded and engulfed her, until…

0=0=0=0

In the beginning there was darkness, a blackness so complete it hurt Buffy’s eyes as it pressed in on them. Then, as her senses slowly returned there was a red flickering light, like tiny flames at midnight. Slowly the flames grew in size and she started to hear things; voices perhaps. Yes, there were voices that slowly got louder, people shouting and screaming.

Her focus gradually sharpening, Buffy saw that the flickering flames were actually houses burning. Thatched cottages burning, sending flames and sparks into the night sky. Standing on a muddy street she saw great billows of smoke illuminated by the light of the fires rising into the dark sky. The shadows of men ran in front of the fires, armed men waving swords and axes. Amid the cries of rage and fear were the sounds of metal on metal as men fought and died.

A shape came out of the flame shot night. Eyes wide, Buffy saw it was a man dressed in a rough tunic and baggy trousers he carried a spear clutched in both hands. Seeing Buffy he thrust his spear at her belly. Instinctively she raised the sword in her hand and parried the clumsy spear thrust with a backhanded blow, cutting the shear-point from the shaft as she did so. Without even thinking she brought her sword around and slashed her assailant across the throat.

Clutching at his neck with frantic fingers the man fell to his knees as his life blood fountained from his throat. Buffy felt something warm and wet splash against her cheek as she watched the man die; slowly he fell face down into the mud at her feet. Curiously she felt nothing, which was strange in itself; she’d just killed a man and she felt nothing other than a vague sense of disappointment.

Turning away from the dead man, Buffy was just in time to dodge a pair of fighting men as they struggled in the street. Stumbling a little, she reached out to steady herself; her hand coming into contact with the flimsy door of a building that faced onto the road. The door gave way under her weight and she crashed into the low ceilinged, smoky room beyond.

Catching her balance, Buffy quickly tried to take stock of her situation. For the first time she noticed something heavy on her head; she reached up with her free hand and took the metal helmet off. Puzzled she studied it for a moment before dropping it onto the straw covered floor. Only after she’d taken off the helmet, a simple conical thing with a metal mask-like visor, did she notice that her hair was done up in two, long, blonde plaits that reached halfway to her waist.

Frowning she looked around the room, outside people were still fighting and dying. Indistinct figures ran by in the street or struggled hand to hand. The room held little of interest to her, there was no sign of treasure or weapons nothing she’d want to take home. For a moment Buffy froze wondering at these strange thoughts. Treasure? Weapons? What was she thinking of? People were fighting and dying all around, she’d just cut a man down in the street and all she could think of was that there was no weapons or treasure to be had.

Turning Buffy moved towards the door; the sound of a gasp froze her in mid stride; turning again she lifted her sword ready to fight. Slowly her eyes penetrated the darkness. Stepping towards where the sound had come from she made out the shape of a figure standing at the back of the room. Reaching out with her free hand, Buffy caught hold of the figure’s arm and dragged it into the light. Before her stood a girl with red hair, she didn’t appear to be much older than seventeen; a look of abject terror marred her pretty features. However, there was something else there, Buffy looked closely and recognised what it was. Although the girl was obviously terrified she was also defiant, her eyes hard with anger.

As fast as a striking snake, Buffy’s hand lashed out and ripped open the girl’s shirt exposing her heaving bosom. Feeling strangely excited at the sight of the girl’s ripe breasts and her fear filled eyes; Buffy presented the edge of her bloody sword at the girl’s throat and pushed her backwards over a table. Pushing the girl’s legs apart with her knee, Buffy stood between her legs and started to fumble with the wide belt around her own waist. Her strange feeling of detachment changed to one of frustration as the belt refused to come undone. Buffy sighed in annoyance and without thinking she put down her sword so she could work on the belt with both hands.

“You ever done this sort of thing before have you?” the red haired girl asked as she watched Buffy struggling with her belt.

“Me?” Buffy looked down at the girl in surprise, “Of course I have!” she reassured her, “I've been looting and pillaging up and down the coast all summer.”

“Ah,” the red head nodded her head sagely, she gave Buffy a sceptical look, “Looting and pillaging, eh?”

“Yeah!” Buffy didn’t like the defensive tone her own voice was taking.

“But what about the raping?” the girl asked knowingly.

“Shut up,” Buffy pleaded as she gave up trying to undo the belt.

“It's obvious to me that you haven't raped anyone in your life,” the red head looked at Buffy closely for a moment, “and you’re a girl! Just what did you hope to achieve anyway?”

Yes, thought Buffy, just what had she been hoping to achieve? A few options for girl on girl sexual assault popped unbidden into her mind; she shook her head to empty it of these disturbing images.

“Shhh!” Buffy covered the girl’s mouth with her hand and looked round to make sure no one was there to overhear; half-heatedly she made another attempt to undo her belt and trousers as the girl watched her suspiciously.

“Do you _like_ women?” The girl asked freezing Buffy’s fingers in mid fumble with her words.

“Of-of course I like women...” Buffy didn’t know why she’d just said that; she examined the statement for a moment and yes she ‘liked’ women, she felt she needed to add something, “I _love_ them!”

“You don't _love_ me.” The girl pointed out reasonably.

“No,” Agreed Buffy, all the time wondering who was putting all these words in her brain and mouth. “Like, this is totally _rape_. Now I'm not saying I couldn't get to like you...” Buffy gave up all thoughts of trying to rape the girl, she picked up her sword and went to sit down on a stool on the other side of the room; released from the threat of imminent sexual assault the girl stood up, rearranged her clothes and watched Buffy closely.

“To be totally honest,” Buffy sighed, “I prefer it when there's like some sort of mutual feeling between two people...

“What?” asked the girl frowning down at Buffy, “Rape?”

“No,” Buffy replied miserably, “It totally wouldn’t be rape then, would it? I don't suppose you...” Buffy shook her head, “…no, silly of me to ask really”

“What?” the girl looked at Buffy questioningly.

“I don't suppose you...” Buffy felt embarrassed as her cheeks flushed, “… _do_ like me at all?”

“NO!” The girl glared at Buffy, “What d'you expect?” she pointed an angry finger at her would be lesbian rapist, “You come in here, burn my village, kill my family and try to rape me...”

“Sorry,” Buffy mumbled, “please don’t say anything about this to anyone.”

“What?” the girl gave Buffy a puzzled look, “About raping me?”

“No,” admitted Buffy miserably, “about _not_ raping you...”

“You _don’t_ like it, do you?” the girl added quietly.

“Well,” Buffy fiddled with the end of one of her plaits, “like, it just seems so totally crude, y’know?”

“What about the killing and looting?” The girl was standing up now straightening her dress, “That's just as crude, isn't it?”

“Oh well,” Buffy shrugged, “you've _got_ to do that.”

“Why?” for a moment Buffy didn’t have an answer for the girl’s simple question, however one soon popped into her mind.

“To totally pay for the next expedition, of course!” Buffy laughed at the girl’s foolishness.

“But that's a circular argument!” Exclaimed the girl, “If the only reason for going on an expedition is the killing and looting and the only reason for the killing and looting is to pay for the next expedition, they cancel each other out.”

“Oh!” Buffy threw her sword onto the floor in anger and frustration, “Stop talking like we’re married!”

“Well,” sniffed the girl, “you started it.”

“I just said I didn't feel like raping you,” Buffy replied miserably, today just wasn’t going like it should.

“I was just saying,” the girl pointed out, “that rape is no _more_ pointless or crude than all the killing and looting.” 

For a fleeting moment Buffy wondered if all village girls were this well versed in philosophical argument. Another thought elbowed the first out of the way and waved its arms in the air trying to get Buffy’s attention. “Scream.” Buffy ordered the girl; she’d forgotten she was supposed to be raping her.

“Ah.” The girl screamed unconvincingly.

“Louder,” pleaded Buffy as she picked up her sword.

“AAAAGH!” The girl put more effort into her cry, “RAPE!” she added for good measure.

“Thanks,” Buffy smiled at the girl just as two men with swords burst into the room, they both appeared to be slightly drunk.

“Rape?” Asked the first marauder as his eyes shifted from the girl to Buffy he looked slightly puzzled; Buffy and the girl were standing, fully clothed, about six feet apart. 

The fact that Buffy was obviously a girl didn’t appear to worry him or his comrade.

“She raped me standing up!” the red haired girl blurted out; Buffy smiled her thanks at the girl for saving her any more embarrassment.

“You finished, then?” asked the second marauder.

“Um, yeah,” Buffy mumbled without thinking, “Like, I suppose so...”

“Right! Me first!” the first marauder jumped on the girl knocking her back down onto the table.

“No!” cried the second marauder, “Its my turn!” 

There was a short tussle between the two marauders as they sorted out who was going to rape the girl first. Buffy looked on stunned as ‘marauder one’ won the fight and jumped back on top of the girl.

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” Buffy grabbed the second marauder and pushed him out of her way in an effort to get to the girl and save her.

The would-be rapist stumbled to one side as he dragged his sword from its scabbard. Buffy’s and the reserve rapist’s swords clashed together sending sparks flying about the hut. Easily parrying the molester’s blows, Buffy buried her blade in the man’s stomach, gasping in pain he collapsed onto the bloody floor as Buffy pulled her sword free.

The man at present on top of the struggling girl was too busy ripping her clothes off to notice Buffy come up behind him. Raising her sword, she thrust it into his back. The rapist screamed as the sword sliced through his vital organs before he slumped down limply on top of the girl.

Pulling her sword free, Buffy heaved the man’s body off the girl and then looked down in horror at what she’d done. In her rage and anger at seeing the girl attacked, Buffy had trust with too much force. Her sword blade had passed right through the man and had entered the girl’s chest just below her left breast.

“Oh, god I’m sorry,” Buffy felt the tears start to burn her eyes as she frantically tried to stem the bleeding.

“Thanks for saving me from a fate worse than death,” the girl tried to laugh but it came out as a cough and blood stained her lips.

“I didn't mean to!” Buffy pleaded cradling the girls head in her arms.

“Oh, that's all right then...” the girl gasped for breath as she looked up into Buffy’s eyes, “it's the thought...that counts...”

“You told them I raped you…why?” Buffy asked.

“I dunno...” the girl’s voice was barely a whisper now, “…you looked so...so helpless...”

“Tell me your name?” Buffy begged the girl, but she was already dead, “Tell me...” Buffy’s tears fell onto the dead girl’s face.

Realising after a moment that she’d gone, Buffy gently rested the girl’s head back on the table; she stumbled over to the stool and sat down and stared at the girl’s body. She remained like this for a long time, listening to the sounds of rape and slaughter outside that echoed through her head. Her mind whirled as she tried to rationalise what had happened to her. Why had she been brought here? What was she supposed to do? Surely there must be some way of living that didn’t involve all this killing, looting and raping. Maybe that was it, the thought flashed into Buffy’s mind like a dagger that stabbed at her conscious. Perhaps she was here to find that better way and save this world from whatever was happening.

0=0=0=0


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Staring morosely down the length of the great hall, Buffy couldn’t help but feel this was all wrong. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, but if you’d asked her why she felt that way she wouldn’t have been able to tell you. Everyone was having fun (except her); Unn-the-thrown-at was, as usual, tied to an up ended table while, Thorfinn Skullsplitter, Sven the Berserk and Ivar the Boneless threw axes at her long, blonde braids.

They never hit the braids and so far they’d never hit Unn, which was just as well because it was unlikely that they’d find another of the village girls who’d be willing to join in with their target practice. The three young men stopped throwing their axes and drunkenly staggered around picking up their weapons so they could start another round of their overly dangerous version of darts.

While this was going on, Harold the Missionary, (a rather sleazy cleric who’d long ago given up trying to convert the villagers and had found solace in beer) lurched over to the unfortunate Unn and poked his dog-eared bible under her nose.

“If you were thinking of converting, my dear,” Harald breathed beer fumes into Unn’s face, “this would be an ideal opportunity...”

“Piss off,” snapped Unn, apparently finding the prospect of having more axes thrown at her less distasteful than Harald’s beery breath and his weird religion.

“Yes, of course,” Harald, who was used to such rebuffs started to move away from the pinioned girl; he hesitated for just a moment and tried one last time to get the girl to see the light. “You might not get another chance, you know...”

“I said, piss off!” Unn glared at the unfortunate Christian just as another axe thudded into the table top, this increased Harald's desire to get back to his own bench.

“Yes, of course...” Harald shuffled out of the way of the flying axes, “I'll pray for you anyway, my dear...” Suddenly an axe shattered the large earthenware mug in Harald’s hand soaking him in beer. “Yes…” Harald looked dumbly at the mug handle in his hand and noted the complete absence of mug, he turned and scurried rapidly away, “That's what I'll do...”

Moodily, Buffy turned away from the axe throwers. Unn was in no great danger, the three young men were by now so drunk they couldn’t hit anything, even if they’d been trying to. A great booming laugh attracted Buffy’s attention and she turned her head to see, Olaf Trollsplitter quaffing ale from a large tankard and making merry sport with a couple of the serving wenches.

Sighing, Buffy shook her head sadly, it was always the same and she knew exactly what was going to happen next. Any moment now, Aud, Olaf’s girl would burst into the hall and demand that Olaf come home right that moment. Olaf would say ‘no’ and push the girl away before getting on with the important business of quaffing and merry-making. The girl would slap Olaf and then Olaf would turn around and hit the girl. Some people might say that she deserved it as she’d hit Olaf first. However, Aud was a willowy girl who really couldn’t hit hard enough to save her life. Olaf, on the other hand was a great mountain of a man nearly seven feet tall, Aud could hit him all day and he’d likely not even notice.

Right on schedule, Aud burst through the door letting in a cold draft of air. Marching up to Olaf she started to berate him for staying out all day drinking instead of going out to work and splitting trolls like he was supposed to. At first Olaf simply ignored the girl as he raised another tankard of ale to his lips. It was just at this moment that Aud decided to hit her man causing him to spill his beer. Roaring in anger, Olaf stood up and punched Aud sending the unfortunate girl flying across the hall, much to the amusement of the villagers.

This was just too much for Buffy, standing up she walked purposely across the hall to where Olaf stood laughing at the unfortunate Aud who was lying on the floor semi-conscious. Looking up at Olaf’s back, Buffy realised just how big the man was, undeterred she grabbed a stool and put it down behind the troll hunter. Standing on the stool she tapped Olaf on the shoulder. As the mountain of a man turned to see who had the temerity to disturb him, Buffy punched him…hard!

Surprised and not a little hurt, Olaf stepped back and stumbled over a bench and fell to the floor. As he hit the floorboards a cloud of dust rose around him and people gasped in shock and awe. Rubbing his jaw and looking up at Buffy as she stood on her stool, Olaf gave a great rumbling laugh.

“You are strong and brave little shield-maiden,” Olaf climbed back to his feet, “but will you be as brave when I break your frail, narrow hipped, scrawny body in two?”

“Come on, if you think you’re totally hard enough,” Buffy jumped down from the stool and took up her fighting stance.

With a great roar that caused dust to fall from the rafters, Olaf charged at Buffy his arms opened wide the better to grab her and crush her. Timing the giant’s charge correctly, Buffy jumped to one side and tripped the troll hunter as he went by. Olaf roared in anger at he fell to the floor once again. Shaking his head to clear it of beer fumes and the little pink trolls that were flying around it, Olaf started to push himself to his feet once more. Turning to face Buffy, Olaf was just in time to receive the full force of Buffy’s blow as she smashed a bench over the giant’s head. With a grunt, Olaf slumped to the floor once more where he lay groaning as he held his head in his hands.

“See how you like being hit by someone stronger than you,” turning away from the big man, Buffy stormed out of the hall and out into the weak summer sunlight.

0=0=0=0

Sitting dangling her legs over the end of the dock, Buffy couldn’t help but think that the red haired girl had been right; life was just so crude. Where was the art, the music, the games that didn’t involve tying girls to tables and throwing axes at them? Was there nothing to life other than raiding and pillaging and raping, not that she appeared to be any good at the last. Buffy shivered and rubbed her arms through her shirt, it was getting on for evening and it was already cold. Just then someone dropped her cloak around her shoulders, looking up Buffy saw Aud.

“Thanks,” Aud sat down next to Buffy at the end of the dock.

“Yeah, thanks,” Buffy pulled her cloak around her shoulders.

“No I mean for hitting Olaf,” Aud pursed her lips and nodded her head before gazing out over the freezing waters of the fjord.

“Why do you stay with him, Aud?” Buffy asked after a moment’s pause, “All he does is laugh at you behind your back while he’s out getting drunk and molesting the serving wenches.”

“Who else would have me?” Aud shrugged resignedly, “I’m thin, my breasts aren’t nearly big enough and my hips are too narrow and I talk too precisely and take everything far too literally.”

“I’d have you,” Buffy gazed longingly at the girl and wondered why she’d said what she’d just said; Buffy added hurriedly, “like, if I were a man that is…I-I mean that rabbit business of yours, well…” for a moment Buffy was lost for words, she found a few and tried again. “I mean everyone wants rabbits…there’s the fur and the stew and the pies of course…”

Realising she was starting to babble, Buffy shut up.

“Yes,” agreed Aud, “my rabbit breeding business is surprisingly successful,” Aud smiled at Buffy, “and everyone knows.”

“Knows what?” Buffy looked suspiciously at Aud.

“That you like girls.”

“They do?”

“Of course they do,” Aud laughed lightly, “no one cares…except maybe that Harald the Missionary, but he’s just weird.”

“Oh,” Buffy’s shoulders slumped; although she knew she should feel relieved she actually just felt a little more confused; another puzzle in the mystery that was her life.

“So,” Aud straightened her own cloak and pulled it more closely around her shoulders, “what’s wrong, Buffy?”

“What?” Buffy looked at the girl, she’d become lost in her own dark thoughts again.

“Some people say I’m no good at telling when people are upset or something,” Aud looked out to sea again, “but the fact is I’m really quite good at it.”

“What's it all about?” Buffy wondered aloud.

“What?” Aud frowned at Buffy.

“We raid, we loot and pillage, rape and kill... and yet...” Buffy’s voice trailed away

“That’s just the way things are,” Aud explained, “the men, or in your case, the women go out and raid. While the woman, except you, stay home and raise babies and rabbits.”

“But where does it all get us, Aud?” Buffy wanted to know. “You’re an intelligent woman you deserve better than Olaf.”

Aud shrugged, “Who’ve you been talking to?”

“I met this girl...” Buffy said shyly.

“It's always a woman that starts all the trouble,” Aud announced wisely.

“You do remember that we’re both women, don’t you?” Buffy asked, “She got me thinking...”

“So?” Aud smiled knowingly, “What did you do to her?”

“Oh, nothing much,” sighed Buffy, “I just killed her.”

“Oh,” Aud nodded her head and put her arm around Buffy’s shoulder giving her a sisterly squeeze, “that’s alright then.”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s alright’?” Buffy stared in shock at the young woman beside her.

“Well,” Aud began to explain, “its not like you fell in love with her, is it? Because that can only lead to heartache, disappointment and eventually bloody vengeance.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Buffy agreed sadly, “but what if we’ve got it all wrong, and there’s more to life than…” Buffy gestured to the snow clad world, “…this?”

“Well,” Aud started to get up, her butt was getting numb from sitting on the cold dock, “you don’t have to take my word for it.”

“I don’t?”

“No,” Aud turned and started to walk back towards the hall, “go see Freya-the-wise, she only lives half a day’s walk up the glacier.”

“Oh,” Buffy looked after the girl before turning to look out over the frigid fjord again, “thanks, I’ll do that.”

0=0=0=0

The next morning, just after breakfast, Buffy packed some sandwiches, buckled on her best sword and then throwing her cloak around her shoulders she started up the fjord to where the glacier stood at the head of the valley. Trotting across the snow covered fields, Buffy made good time and it was well before midday when she came to a craggy mountain side and saw smoke drifting from a cave mouth high up in the cliff wall.

“FREYA!” She shouted as she started to climb the narrow path leading to the cave.

After a short climb, Buffy found herself at the mouth of a large cave, smoke had stained the roof of the grotto and there are strange primitive paintings on the walls. Stepping further into the cave Buffy noticed a fire and piles of skins further into the cavern. Feeling slightly uneasy she loosened her sword in its sheath and advanced towards the fire.

“Freya?” Buffy called uncertainly as she looked around at the strips of bone marked with runes that lay discarded on the floor. Thinking there was no one at home, Buffy called one last time, “Freya?”

Turning towards the cave entrance, Buffy thought her journey has been wasted; the old woman had probably died years ago…but if that was so who’d been keeping the fire going?

“Freya?” again Buffy peered into the dark at the back of the cave just as the bundle of rags and skins beside her started to move; a head looked up at Buffy, it was Freya.

“Ah...Buffy…Buffy the ‘Viking’.” Freya’s tone of voice was slightly mocking, “Now what can you want with me, Buffy the Viking?”

It became clear to Buffy that the old, dusky-skinned woman, with a voice that sounded like a cat purring, was indeed mocking her.

“I shouldn't have come,” Buffy turned to head on out of the cave and leave the mad old woman alone.

“Will they make fun of you for listening to an old woman's stories?” Freya asked as she climbed fully from under her ragged bed; Freya watched her craftily. “Young men are only interested in shagging, fighting and killing.”

Buffy looked at her sharply, it was almost as if she’d been reading her mind.

“Like, has it always totally been that way, Freya?” Buffy walked over to look down at the old woman, “From the beginning of time?”

Instead of replying straight away, Freya got up and walked to the mouth of the cave, Buffy followed her. They looked out at the grey, bleak landscape, nothing but Arctic wastes, snow and desolation greeted their eyes; above them black clouds boiled ceaselessly across a troubled sky.

“What do you see, Buffy?” Freya asked quietly.

“I see the world,” Buffy smiled to herself thinking that the old woman was truly mad.

“Is it night or day, Buffy?”

“It is day, of course, Freya,” Buffy gave a nervous laugh; the sooner she was away from the mad woman, the happier she’d be.

“Is it summer or winter, Buffy?” Freya asked slowly.

Buffy looked around at the snowy wastes and smiled at Freya.

“The winter’s long gone, it’s summer,” Buffy replied

Freya put her face close to Buffy’s and peered into his eyes.

“Have you ever seen the sun, Buffy?” asked the old woman.

“The sun’s totally up beyond the clouds, where it always is,” Buffy replied uncertainly.

“But have you ever seen it?” Freya insisted, “Think back...”

“Of course not...but...when I was a child...I remember a dream...it was as if the whole sky was blue...” a vague memory filled Buffy’s mind of a land where the sky was always blue and of a fair haired girl who’d laughed and played beneath it with her little sister.

“The sky _was_ blue, Buffy...” Freya whispered before adding sadly, “…once.”

Buffy looked at Freya hoping for some sort of explanation, again as if reading her mind, Freya started to explain.

“The Old Stories tell of an age that would come such as this; when Fenrir the Wolf would swallow the sun, and a Great Winter would settle upon the world. Brothers would fight and kill each other; sisters’ children would defile their kinship. It is harsh in the world, whoredom rife, an axe age, a sword age, shields are riven, a wind age, a wolf age before the world goes headlong. No man will have mercy on another.”

Buffy looked out across the bleak and gloomy landscape to the black, boiling clouds in the sky.

“So,” Buffy whispered, “this is like, totally the Age of Ragnarok?”

“Whatever,” shrugging, Freya turned to go back into the cave.

“Wait!” Buffy followed the old woman into the cavern, “Freya! Is there nothing men can do?”

“The Gods left long ago, Buffy,” sadly the old woman shrugged her thin shoulders once more and sat down next to the fire. 

“Then I’ll go and bring them back!”

Turning to look up at her, Freya smiled clearly enjoying Buffy’s earnest enthusiasm.

“Tell me what I must do, Freya?” Buffy pleaded dropping to her knees next to the old woman; Freya thought for some moments before she started to speak again.

“Buffy the Viking, you must travel far out into the midst of the sea to a land; there you will find a people in need of your bravery and skill. You must help them, Buffy the Viking, without any thought of reward for yourself and your followers, even if this means that you will all die, only in this way can the cycle be broken and the sun returned to the sky.”

Turning to go, Buffy hesitated as she thought of the red haired girl in the burning village.

“Can the dead ever return, Freya?”

“That I cannot tell you.”

0=0=0=0


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Returning to the village by mid-afternoon, Buffy found the villagers crowded around the dock cheering and shouting at some commotion. Pushing her way to the front of the mob, Buffy saw Thorfinn Skullsplitter and Sven the Berserk trying to kill each other by pounding each other’s heads into the stone wharf. Snarling angrily, Buffy rushed forward; grabbing hold of Sven she easily tossed him into the harbour.

Turning on Thorfinn, who was now laughing at Sven’s plight, she punched him in the belly. Eyes wide in surprise, Thorfinn clutched at his stomach before collapsing onto his knees and started to throw up on the dock side. The crowd groaned in disappointment as their entertainment was cut short. It was at about this time, as Thorfinn threw-up on the dock and Sven splashed around in the icy waters of the harbour that something occurred to Buffy.

It didn’t matter how strong a girl was, she shouldn’t be able to throw a full sized man into the sea or reduce another to a puking wreck at her feet. Buffy smiled as she looked in wonder at her small fist. Perhaps what the mad old woman had said was right, maybe she could bring an end to Fimbulwinter and prevent Ragnarok. Was that why she’d been sent here? Ever since she’d arrived, Buffy had felt that she didn’t belong, that this wasn’t her home. The thought struck her that she might be some sort of champion sent to save the world. But who could have sent her? Freya had said the gods had all left the world so they’d not sent her. No, there had to be another answer to this, she’d have get to the bottom of it eventually. In the meantime she’d have to find out why Thorfinn and Sven where trying to kill each other.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Buffy turned to the crowd angrily. 

“What are you doing, Buffy?” Demanded the Chieftain who also claimed to be Buffy’s grandfather (Buffy was fairly sure he wasn’t…her grandfather that is) “Thorfinn just said Sven's grandfather died of old age!”

There were gasps of shock from the crowd.

“They must fight to the death!” Cried an anonymous villager from the back of the crowd.

“Don’t you see?” Buffy addressed the crowd, “There are totally more important things to do!”

“More important than Thorfinn and Sven fighting to the death you mean?” Buffy’s granddad asked with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Yes!” Buffy cried.

“Like what?”demanded a villager.

“Yeah,” cried a plump housewife, “who do you think you are coming ‘round here stopping people killing each other!”

There were mutterings of agreement from the crowd as they looked at Buffy, murder in their eyes.

“Well,” Buffy was starting to feel a little nervous at the reaction of the crowd, “what about bringing an end to Fimbulwinter and preventing Ragnarok?”

“Fimbulwinter?” asked a tall warrior as he scratched his head.

“Ragnarok?” asked another.

“It’ll be totally dangerous,” Buffy admitted, “but not all of us need die. Maybe some of us will totally come home.”

“Ah-well,” Snorri-the-Miserable said, “that’s much more sensible than just Thorfinn and Sven getting killed,” he turned to his fellows, “shall we all go and pack now?

“What are you talking about, Buffy?” Sven asked as he climbed out of the water and stood dripping on the dockside.

“What if we could bring an end to Fimbulwinter and prevent Ragnarok?” Buffy asked quietly.

“Piss off!” Unn-the-thrown-at stepped forward to confront Buffy, “That’s impossible.”

“Because they don’t exist!” cried Harald-the-Missionary holding up his battered bible, “It’s all fairy stories and superstition, now if you read the good b…”

“Oh shut-up!” chorused several villagers wearily.

“Oh, alright then,” Harald shut-up and slunk off to the back of the crowd.

“Only great heroes could bring an end to Fimbulwinter and prevent Ragnarok, Buffy.” Sven pointed out sadly, he rather liked Buffy and didn’t want to see her laughed at or worse.

“What's the matter?” Buffy turned towards Sven and Thorfinn putting them on the defensive “Are you afraid to like, try?”

“Of course we're not afraid to try,” Thorfinn blustered uncomfortably, “but…” 

“But what?” Buffy pointed a finger at Thorfinn who jumped away from her thinking she was going to hit him again.

“But...” Thorfinn looked around desperately hoping that someone else would have a good reason why they shouldn’t go on this crazy sounding quest.

“What?” Buffy demanded an answer.

“Nobody's ever tried it before,” Sven came unexpectedly to Thorfinn’s rescue.

“Then we'd be the first!” Buffy explained brightly.

“You mean we'd be dead?” Snorri moaned miserably.

“No!” Buffy exclaimed, her enthusiasm completely failing to infect any of the other villagers, “We'd be the like the first men…”

“Or women,” came a voice that sounded suspiciously like Aud’s.

“…to totally save the world!” Buffy waited for the cheering to begin but was greeted instead by an uncomfortable silence and a certain amount of foot shuffling.

“But how?” Thorfinn vocalised what everyone else was thinking.

“I don't know,” Buffy smiled as she gazed dramatically across the fjord towards the open sea, “but I'm totally not afraid to try.”

0=0=0=0

Over the next couple of weeks the villagers prepared the ‘Golden Dragon’ for her voyage to almost certain death. Supplies where stored below her deck, new rigging was put in place, while the village women made a new sail complete with a bright new Golden Dragon emblem. This would, hopefully, scare away sea monsters and terrify more human enemies allowing the Vikings to get to their destination where they could no doubt die horribly. The afternoon before the day set for the Golden Dragon’s departure, Olaf Trollsplitter stood drinking his ale and staring at the ship moodily. Loki, the blacksmith’s assistant crept up behind him.

“Wish you were going too?” Loki asked in a weaselling tone of voice.

Olaf grunted non-committally and shifted uncomfortably, part of him wanted to go with the other warriors and share in the danger and glory (the thought that he might not return didn’t even enter his head). But, another part of him didn’t want to have anything to do with any adventure that included Buffy the Viking.

“But you can’t,” Loki pointed out annoyingly, “because you're too busy. Far too many trolls in the mountains to hunt and kill.”

What Loki said was the truth; there _were_ far too many trolls roaming the mountains and Fjords for Olaf to go off adventuring across the sea. It was the way that Loki said it that Olaf didn’t like. Loki seemed to be suggesting without actually saying it that Olaf was using his troll hunting duties as an excuse not to go.

“Yes,” Loki nodded his head knowingly, “far too many trolls for you to go gallivanting across the sea.”

Olaf didn’t know what ‘gallivanting’ meant but he didn’t like the sound of the word. It sounded cowardly, it sounded like he wasn’t up to facing the dangers of a long sea voyage. Olaf was many things, a quaffer of ale, a girlfriend beater and a wench molester; but he wasn’t a coward.

“Oh and that Buffy the Viking,” Loki laughed quietly as Olaf tried to finish his ale; suddenly it didn’t taste as good as it should. “She certainly showed you up, he-he! Hitting you with that bench when you weren’t ready and who’s she to tell you how you should treat Aud?”

“She is a Shield Maiden and the granddaughter of the chief,” Olaf rumbled angrily.

“Not when she’s far across the sea she isn’t,” Loki pointed out.

“No,” Olaf took a contemplative quaff of ale, “no, away from the village she is just a girl who’s playing at being a warrior.”

“Yes,” agreed Loki, “the others will soon grow tired of her wild ideas…crossing the seas to stop Fimbulwinter…I ask you? As soon as the others turn against her you’ll be able to take charge and lead a successful raid. Bring back gold and slaves, perhaps make merry sport with the silly girl and become chieftain?”

Visions of fame and glory, power and wealth drifted in front of Olaf’s eyes as he saw himself becoming King of all Norway.

“Yes, yes,” Olaf muttered darkly, “you’re right. Tomorrow I will volunteer to join the crew.

Nodding his head in agreement with the huge man, Loki smiled and turned away. If Buffy were to bring a premature end to the Age of Ragnarok, men would stop fighting; the bottom would drop out of the sword making business and he, Loki, would be out of a job. Walking through the village, Loki wondered, would Olaf Trollsplitter be enough to ensure Buffy’s failure? Loki frowned with doubt, the troll hunter was almost unbeatable in a fight but he wasn’t a great thinker.

0=0=0=0

The following morning broke like any other typical summer’s morning, cold, dark and with great dark grey clouds chasing each other across the sky like big, black, fantastic horses. The entire village was there to see the brave warriors off on what everyone was sure would be a fruitless and ultimately fatal voyage.

“…and you've got both axes?” Thorfinn’s mum fussed around her son.

“Yes, Mother,” Thorfinn rolled his eyes.

“…and something to sharpen them with?”

“Yes, Mum.” Thorfinn sighed heavily.

“…and don't forget: never let your enemy get behind you.”

“No, Mother.” Thorfinn shook his head solemnly 

“…and keep your sword greased.”

“Yes, Mother.” Thorfinn looked helplessly at his father as he tried to fight off his mum’s tidying hands, “Goodbye, Dad.”

“Goodbye Son,” Thorfinn’s father replied sadly before adding, “don't forget to wash…you know? All over.”

“No, Dad.” Thorfinn sighed wearily. 

“….and if you have to kill somebody,” Thorfinn’s mother wiped the tears from her eyes, “just kill them! Don't stop to think about it.”

Thorfinn gave his mother a puzzled look, “I never do...”

All across the dock side this little scene was being played out, the details might have been different but the emotions where the same. Slowly the warriors made their final farewells and climbed aboard the Golden Dragon. Much to everyone’s surprise (and the relief of the villagers) Harald the Missionary pushed his way through the crowd of families. He climbed aboard the Golden Dragon and dumped his kitbag down next to Snorri-the-Miserable who has already taken up his place aboard the ship.

“You?” Snorri looked up at the missionary gloomily, “What are doing here, you don't even believe in Fimbulwinter and Ragnarok.”

“I thought I might do a bit of business on the way,” Harald explained as he stowed his gear away and took up his place on the bench opposite Snorri.

“You're wasting your time,” Snorri pointed out pessimistically.

“Listen,” Harald leaned towards Snorri and whispered, “I've been in this dump for sixteen years and I haven't made a single convert!”

“There was Thorbjorn Vifilsson's wife.” Snorri pointed out not exactly thrilled at the idea of spending the entire voyage sitting next to the Christian, “You converted her.”

“Thorbjorn Vifilsson's wife became a Buddhist,” Harald sighed sadly, “not a Christian.”

“Same thing, isn't it?” Snorri asked innocently.

“No, it is not!” Before Harald could explain the differences between Buddhism and Christianity, Buffy climbed aboard the ship and stood next to Ivar the Boneless who would be helmsman for the voyage.

“Well...” Buffy faced the crowd and wondered if she needed to say anything else other than; “we'll be totally off now...”

Buffy's granddad stood on the dock and waited for some time before he realised that Buffy wasn’t going to say anything else.

“You need to say a bit more than that!” the old chieftain called.

“I do?” Buffy looked at her ‘grandfather’ and saw him nod his head, “Oh!”

Buffy hadn’t thought about this, she’d sort of expected them to just row off into fjord while people stood on the shore and waved. Something deep down inside her told her that she wasn’t any good at making speeches. She sighed, oh-well, she thought; she’d better make an effort.

“Don't be sad....” Buffy began, “…you all know why we’re going, so don't grieve. Maybe untold dangers do lie ahead of us, and some of you may well be looking at the one you love for the last time...”

Someone, somewhere in the crowd burst into loud sobs. Buffy desperately tried to rally the villager’s spirits.

“But totally don’t cry!” Buffy tried to add some conviction to her voice but even to her it sounded lame, “Even if the Hordes of Mussel like tear us limb from limb...or the erm Fire Giants burn each and every one of us…to a cinder...” If anything the crying got louder as it become more widespread, “...though we may all be totally swallowed by the Dragon of the North Sea or fall off the Edge of the World...” Buffy looked at the wailing, sobbing villagers with panic in her eyes, and begged, “Don't cry!”

The crying got even louder and more widespread as even the men, who up until this point had looked on stoically, started to weep.

Leaning over the side of the boat, Buffy looked at her ‘granddad’, “What’s the matter with them?”

“Oh!” the old chieftain shook his head in despair and disappointment, “Say something cheerful.”

“Oh... okay,” Buffy smiled broadly and waved; the entire village stared back at her with tears in their eyes, biting their lips. “Time to go,” Buffy said quietly as she turned to her crew.

Just as she was about to give the order to cast off there came a commotion in the crowd as Olaf Trollsplitter pushed his way through the villagers to the side of the dock. Throwing a bundle of spare clothes and weapons into the ship, he stepped down onto the deck to stand before Buffy.

“Olaf Trollsplitter!?” Buffy gasped in surprise.

“You can't go without me, little Shield Maiden,” Olaf threw his head back and laughed, “What will you do if you meet trolls on your journey?” 

An awkward silence descended on the ship as Buffy desperately tried to think what she’d do if they did meet any hostile trolls (and lets face it trolls were always hostile). Not being able to come up with a plausible plan of action, Buffy reluctantly allowed Olaf to join the crew. Watching the big man stow his gear and take his place on the rowing benches, Buffy couldn’t help but think Olaf Trollsplitter was going to be more trouble than he was worth.

0=0=0=0


	4. Chapter 4

4.

The addition of Olaf Trollsplitter to the crew caused Buffy an immediate problem. The fact was that Olaf was such a giant of a man that he easily weighed the same as two normal warriors. When he sat down at a rowing bench he seriously unbalanced the boat. Pursing her lips in frustration and under the stares of the villagers, Buffy had to rearrange the crew.

No sooner had she finished reorganising the rowers that she noticed she’d made matters worse; she didn’t need Snorri the Miserable to tell her that she’d got all the big warriors on one side of the boat. Water splashed over the side and the longship had started to capsize even before they’d left the dock. Once again Buffy reorganised the crew, this time Snorri pointed out that she now had all the warriors with beards on one side and all the ones with moustaches on the other.

Telling Snorri that it didn’t matter, Buffy moved towards the stern where she took the tiller from Ivar the Boneless’ hand. Before she even had the chance to tell the villagers to cast off, Buffy saw her ‘Grandmother’ approaching the Golden Dragon clutching a big red pillow in her hands.

“Buffy, wait!” Buffy’s grandma’ elbowed her way through the crowd until she was sanding next to the boat, “Here dear,” Grandma’ held out the pillow to Buffy, “your father always made sure he had somewhere to rest his head.”

Olaf Trollsplitter sniggered from the waist of the boat at Buffy’s obvious discomfort at having the pillow thrust on her.

“Like I totally can’t take that on the voyage,” Buffy whispered as the sniggering got louder.

“But, it’s your father’s,” Grandma’ pointed out (Buffy was fairly sure that her real father had never owned a pillow like the one Grandma’ was at present holding towards her), “this is the pillow he took on all his voyages,” Grandma’ insisted, “He said that once it even saved his life!”

Buffy tried to be strong but she couldn’t help but be moved by the look of hope on her Grandma’s face. After a moment’s more indecision she relented and took the pillow before giving her Grandma’ a hug. The saga of the pillow completed, Buffy once again took a firm hold of the tiller. The ropes that held the Golden Dragon to the dock were cast off and Buffy started to call the stroke as the boat moved out into the Fjord and towards the sea.

As the boat moved away from the shore, Buffy took one last glance back over her shoulder at the villagers who stood waving from the shore. Lifting her hand to wave back, Buffy froze for a moment. There standing at the back of the crowd, Buffy was sure she saw the figure of the red-haired girl from the village, the girl she’d accidentally killed. Blinking her eyes in an attempt to remove the vision from her sight, Buffy looked again. This time there was no sign of the girl as the figures of the villagers got smaller and smaller.

0=0=0=0

Once out of the fjord and on the high seas, Buffy ordered the sail raised and the men stopped rowing. For several days and nights the Golden Dragon sailed across the sea under the low dark clouds. It was on the morning of the fifth day while she was eating her breakfast porridge that Buffy saw the bank of fog rolling across the greasy surface of the sea towards them.

“What’s that?” she pointed as she put down her half eaten bowl of porridge.

“It’s probably the Dragon of the North Sea,” Snorri the Miserable observed miserably.

“Oh don’t be silly,” Buffy forced a laugh, it didn’t even sound genuine to her, “it’s probably just a…”

Before Buffy had time to finish what she was saying the great bank of fog slipped over the boat and held them in its dank embrace.

“Lower the sails!” Buffy ordered, “Out oars!”

The warriors hurried to comply with her commands as Buffy held on to the tiller.

“We’ll row our way out of this,” she told her crew as they settled back on the rowing benches, “Stroke!” Buffy started to call out the timing as the boat started to make head way through the fog.

0=0=0=0

“This is what you get for letting a mere slip of a girl take command,” Olaf Trollsplitter muttered from his rowing bench. “Taking men on wild adventures when they should be out raiding.”

There were rumblings of agreement from some of the other men as they glanced up with bitter expressions at Buffy. Standing at the tiller, Buffy pretended not to hear the rumblings of decent; this was not the time to challenge Olaf over his comments. There also wasn’t enough room for them to fight and settle matters. It didn’t help that they still hadn’t rowed their way clear of the fog bank, if anything the fog was thicker than it had been before.

“Look!” cried Erik Broad Axe as he pointed up into the sky.

“The Sun!” Thorkatla the Indiscreet cried out, “I never thought to see the day…”

Olaf Trollsplitter’s words where quickly forgotten as the crew stood or turned in their seats so they could see this strange sight. Gazing up through the fog Buffy smiled as she saw the pale white orb of light still shrouded in mist get brighter. It almost seemed as if it was getting bigger too. The smile slipped from Buffy’s face and she began to frown as she watched the ‘sun’ start to swing gently from side to side.

“Is it totally supposed to do that?” Buffy asked Sven the Berserk who was standing by her side.

“I’m not…” Sven stopped speaking as the ‘sun’ appeared to move out of sight and deeper into the fog, “…odd,” he said.

“Weird,” agreed Buffy.

“LOOK OUT!” cried several voices as the ‘sun’ swooped in low over the port side and knocked one of the rowers into the sea.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to do that,” Sven told Buffy as he watched the sun swing over the boat and back out to sea again.

“OARS!” Buffy yelled and her crew jumped to their benches and thrust their oars through the rowlocks. “STROKE!” Buffy shouted as Ivar the Boneless started to bang out an impossibly fast time on his drum, “Slow down,” Buffy ordered, “no one can row that fast…”

There was a great wail of distress as the sun swung back over the ship and seaweed fell from the burning orb.

“What are we looking at?” Harald the Missionary demanded as he gazed in confusion about the boat.

“It’s the Dragon of the North Sea!” cried Thorkatla the Indiscreet, “ROW!”

“Oh,” Harald laughed, “that explains why I can’t see it. It’s all fairy stories to frighten children,” Harald stopped rowing and got out his bible, “In the good book our Lord says…”

“ _Your_ lord,” several Vikings pointed out even as they bent to their oars.

“Alright,” admitted Harald, “my Lord…”

The rest of his words were drowned out by a great cry of fear as the Vikings saw the huge head of the Dragon of the North Sea appear out of the mist.

“Its all fairy stories,” Harald insisted, blinded by his faith, even as the dragon bit down on the boat and one of its great teeth punched through the hull by his feet.

“Must-kill-dragon!” Sven the Berserk cried as he started to froth at the mouth.

“Its pointless going Berserk at the dragon!” Buffy pointed out as the dragon shook the boat sending several more warriors into the cold, grey waters.

“AAAAAGH!” screamed Sven as he rushed at the dragon and head butted one of its teeth.

While this had no effect on the dragon it didn’t appear to harm Sven either, so Buffy decided to let Sven go on with his pointless attack, perhaps it would give her time to think up something that might actually work. Looking around the Golden Dragon she saw her men falling about as the dragon shook the boat as if it was a toy. Men and equipment fell overboard as the dragon roared and timbers splintered, she needed to do something fast.

Casting around for some sort of weapon to use on the dragon, Buffy’s eyes fell on the pillow her grandma’ had insisted that she bring on the voyage. The pillow, Buffy thought, it would be full of feathers and feathers made you sneeze! Grabbing the pillow in one hand, Buffy ran the length of the boat and jumped up onto the end of the dragon’s snout. Hanging on for dear life, she looked up to see the monster’s great eyes swivel towards her and almost go cross-eyed in their attempts to see her. 

Finding a foothold, Buffy pushed her way further along the creature’s snout. The monster’s nostrils were about half way between its eyes and the end of its nose. Pulling her sword she cut open the pillow and then started to stuff great handfuls of feathers into the monster's nose. It was at this point that Buffy saw what could be a fatal flaw in her plan, she really need the dragon to take a deep breath.

“BREATHE YOU BASTARD!” Buffy yelled as she hit the dragon ineffectually with her sword; stubbornly the dragon refused to breathe in.

Down on the Golden Dragon which was rapidly looking less and less like a ship and more and more like a shipwreck; Sven the Berserk stood foam dripping from his mouth, his eyes wide with berserker rage. In his hand he held his sword as Buffy’s cries came to his ears he raised his weapon and thrust it into a soft spot between two of the dragon’s scales. The dragon, feeling a sharp pain under its chin took a deep breath as it reared back its head pulling the longship from the surface of the sea.

It drew the feathers further into its nose and sneezed. As the dragon sneezed, Buffy jumped from its snout and fell through the air until she collided with the Golden Dragon’s mast. Hanging on for dear life she felt the boat being propelled through the air by the force of the dragon’s sneeze. The longship flew through the air for what seemed like an eternity leaving a trail of doomed seamen and lost equipment behind it. Slowly as the boat lost some of its velocity it plummeted towards the surface of the sea and skipped like a stone across is smooth, grey surface until it finally came to rest and began to sink.

0=0=0=0

“This is pointless,” wailed Ivar the Boneless as he stopped bailing.

Looking around, Buffy had to agree, the water was coming in just as fast as they were bailing it out. Very soon they’d be exhausted and the water would come in, the ship would sink and they would all drown. Ivar’s words acted as a signal for all the Vikings to throw away their buckets and look despondently at each other. 

“Sorry,” Buffy didn’t know what else to say, the expedition had been her idea and it’d been a disaster from the word go.

“Foolish little girl,” Olaf Trollsplitter snapped, being taller than everyone else he’d be the last to drown, “if you’d stayed home with your weaving and embroidery like a proper girl we wouldn’t be about to drown. We could be raiding and bringing treasure back to our loved ones and wives.”

There were mutterings of agreement from the other Vikings. Standing with the water already up to her thighs, Buffy looked around, including herself there were only twelve of them left; why did Olaf Trollsplitter have to be one of them?

“It’s times like this,” Harald the Missionary sat on the side of the boat trying to keep his bible out of the water, “that maybe you should all think of converting.”

The Viking’s looked at him as if he was mad.

“Look,” Harald insisted, “what harm could it do?”

“Alright,” Leif the Lucky asked tiredly, “what do we have to do?”

“All I have to do,” Harald explained as the water grew deeper and deeper as the ship sank further and further into the greedy sea, “is immerse you in water and…”

“Oh, piss off!” groaned the Vikings in chorus.

The water was now up to Buffy’s chin as she drew her sword and presented it hilt first to Sven.

“Don’t let me drown,” Buffy pleaded as Sven pulled his own sword and handed its hilt to Buffy.

“I’ll see you in Valhalla,” Sven said softly as he pressed the point of Buffy’s sword against her throat and felt the tip of his own sword prick the skin under his chin.

All around the ship there was the sound of swords being drawn and farewells being made as the Vikings prepared to kill each other instead of drowning. Suddenly the longship stopped sinking.

“Erm…just how deep is the ocean?” Buffy asked quietly.

“Deep,” Thorfinn Skullsplitter pointed out as the ship refused to sink any further.

“Okay,” Buffy said slowly, “nobody kill anybody…”

0=0=0=0

After a long, cold, miserable night clinging to the wreckage of the Golden Dragon, Buffy awoke to a warm sun shining down on her from a clear blue sky. Looking up into the heavens she gasped in wonder as her mind took her back to when she was a little girl playing on the grass outside a great house. In her mind’s eye she saw the trees and grass completely free of snow and a sky like a great blue dome over her head. The sounds of the Vikings laughing and cheering swept the vision of that long ago time from her mind. 

Stepping up onto a submerged rowing bench, Buffy turned to look around, there survival would be short lived if they were still in the middle of the ocean. Cheering Buffy jumped up and down in the water excitedly as she pointed towards the shore that lay not one ships length from where she now stood. The surviving Vikings cheered, even Olaf Trollsplitter joined in, no doubt glad to be alive.

“Quick!” Buffy pointed towards the tree clad shore, “salvage everything you can and get it ashore.”

Falling to their work with a will, the Vikings dived down into the waterlogged ship to rescue weapons and armour that lay in bundles under the water. Forming a chain they passed the bundles of equipment towards the shore. Struggling through the water and cursing the fact that she was shorter than everyone else, Buffy eventually got to dry land. Standing by the growing pile of equipment she sighed with relief. At least they had their weapons and armour she thought. The fighting gear had been too heavy to be washed away by the sea and too well tied down to be shaken loose by the dragon.

Sensing something behind her, Buffy drew her sword and turned to face the forest, she felt her comrades come to stand by her to form a hedge of sword points to her right and left. There, standing on a bolder near the edge of the forest stood a pretty teenage girl dressed in a good quality woollen dress and linen tunic, both heavy with embroidery.

“Where’d she come from?” Keitel Blacksmith asked in a whisper.

“Who cares,” Olaf Trollsplitter rumbled, “let’s take turns raping her then we’ll hack her to bits!”

“Lets not,” Buffy turned towards the troll hunter and punched him in the testicles.

The big man collapsed around his aching balls and sank slowly to his knees. Smiling, Buffy stepped forward and turned towards her warriors.

“Lets make friends,” she suggested with a bright smile.

“Friends!?” asked the Vikings in surprise, “Where’s the fun in that?”

0=0=0=0


	5. Chapter 5

5.

As it turned out, Buffy felt justified in her prohibition on violent sexual assault followed by the bloody dismemberment of the girl (even if, as leader, she’d have got to ‘go’ first). The girl, whose name was Helga, claimed to be the oldest daughter of the local Jarl and appeared willing to lead Buffy and her little band of adventurers to her father’s hall. Here, for the price of a few stories, they could dry out and enjoy some food and ale before bedding down for the night.

After collecting up their meagre possessions the Vikings followed the girl along a path through the forest. Trying to ignore the disappointed muttering of her fellow adventurers, Buffy concentrated on following the girl along the narrow twisting path. As she did so she found herself watching the sway of the girl’s hips as she walked. After only a few minutes she found herself regretting her earlier decision not to molest the girl. Thrusting her visions of girl on girl sexual assault (this time the mental images came with diagrams and helpful explanatory notes) to one side, Buffy concentrated on keeping her footing on the slippery path.

In an attempt to keep her mind off what she’d do to the girl (which involved a lot of rubbing and probing and kneading and licking and sucking and…) if she was given the chance, Buffy tried to concentrate on the landscape around her. As has been noted the forest was one of those dark brooding forests so beloved of the writers of sword and sorcery novels. However, here the similarity ended. The forest was full of birdsong and Buffy could hear the sound of small woodland creatures in the undergrowth. In the few clearings they passed through there were even some pretty flowers with cute bunnies and Bambi-like deer peeping from between them.

Eventually the Vikings followed the girl out into a huge area of cleared forest which had been cut down to make way for fields and meadows. Here villagers tended fields of crops, there were big hairy cows and fluffy looking sheep. As they walked along villagers left their work and came to look at the strangers and called greetings to the Jarl’s daughter. Rounding a small hill which still had trees on top of it, Buffy was the first to glimpse the village. There were neat little wooden houses and vegetable gardens all surrounded by a solid looking wooden stockade. In the middle of the village stood a fine great hall with Huscarls guarding the door just as they guarded the gate to the village.

“They look tough,” Sven the Berserk commented as they got closer to the gate, “if we’re going to loot and burn the place we’ll have to get rid of them first.”

“Look!” Buffy hissed quietly, “There will be no looting or burning and definitely no raping understand?” Sven gave a dissatisfied groan. “We’re here to make friends,” Buffy tried to lighten the mood by smiling and putting a friendly arm around the berserk’s shoulder, “remember?”

“You’ve been listening to that Harald the Missionary, haven’t you?” Sven replied morosely, even so he did slip his arm around Buffy’s waist as they walked side by side. “He’s always saying we shouldn’t burn and loot and rape, but he never says what we should do instead, I mean a man has to make a living.”

“Look,” Buffy found herself snuggling up a little to Sven, “all I’m saying is that we shouldn’t _always_ burn, loot and rape.” She looked up into Sven’s disbelieving face, “Maybe we could totally try a little trading, just for a change, y’know?”

“You’re weird,” Sven replied but didn’t make any move to remove his arm from around her waist, however ‘weird’ she might be.

Following Helga through the gate, where she called a greeting to the two warriors standing guard, Buffy looked around at the houses and workshops that faced the dry earthen street. This was obviously a wealthy place, in her head a little Viking Buffy with blood on her sword wanted her to raid the place and carry off its riches. Blinking this vision away she turned her head to study the tradesmen that worked in the workshops in front of their houses. There were metalworkers, woodworkers, potters and men who made fine looking jewellery from silver and gold set with bright gems.

Again the guards in front of the Jarl’s hall called out a cheerful greeting to Helga as she led the Vikings into the dark hall that smelt of wood smoke, baking bread and roasting meat. Disentangling herself from Sven, Buffy told her warriors to wait in the entrance hall while she went with Helga to speak to her father.

0=0=0=0

“Okay guys,” Buffy stood before her men after spending some time talking to the Jarl, “this is the Hall of Jarl Torsig Silky Beard,” Buffy explained, “and you are invited to stay the night. Now,” she placed her fists on her hips as she looked each Viking in the eye, “I want you on your best behaviour so don’t get too drunk and smash the place up.”

There were groans of disappointment and mutterings of decent, particularly from Olaf Trollsplitter.

“However,” Buffy thought she better give her guys some good news, “I’m told there are plenty of serving wenches to make merry sport with and the ale here is excellent…any questions?”

“Erm?” Harald the Missionary raised his hand from the back of the crowd.

“Yes Harald?” Buffy asked.

“Do you think the Jarl would mind if I went out to preach the gospel?” Harald asked timidly.

“I don’t see why not,” Buffy shrugged, the question of preaching hadn’t come up in her discussions with the Jarl. “I expect it’ll be totally okay as long as you don’t cause a riot…anyone else?”

“Why don’t we just burn the place down and loot all their riches after we’ve raped all the girls?” Olaf Trollsplitter wanted to know, several of the other Vikings agreed with him.

“It might have escaped your notice,” Buffy walked menacingly slowly towards the giant, “but there’s only twelve of us…”

“Eleven and a half don’t you mean?” came a voice from the back of the crowd.

“WHO SAID THAT!?” In an instant Buffy’s sword was in her hand as she looked through the crowd for the culprit.

“Erm…sorry,” Thorkatla the Indiscreet called meekly.

“As I was saying,” Buffy sheathed her sword and frowned as she tried to remember what she’d been saying, “…only…oh yeah I remember…There’s only the twelve of us and the Jarl has twenty or thirty Huscarls all with good mail, helmets and weapons. Also like I said this voyage isn’t about looting and its definitely not about raping, it’s about making friends.”

The Vikings groaned at the prospect of having to be good, it simply went against everything they’d been taught to believe in.

“Okay,” Buffy smiled hoping to jolly her guys along, “within the limits as I’ve laid them out, come in and have some fun.”

“Fun she says,” grumbled Olaf, “I’ll give her ‘fun’!” he laughed loudly.

Glancing over at Olaf as she walked into the main part of the hall, Buffy knew that sometime very soon she’d have to ‘do’ something about Olaf Trollsplitter.

0=0=0=0

A little latter, Buffy sat at a rough wooden table as she greased her sword to prevent it from going rusty. The rest of her party’s gear was being dried off in the kitchen while the Vikings busied themselves repairing their more warlike gear. Taking a mouthful of ale from her tankard, Buffy looked up at Sven as he came to sit beside her.

“You were right,” Sven drank from his own tankard, “this is good ale,” he smacked his lips in appreciation, “so what else did the Jarl tell you?”

Sven got out his axe and started to sharpen its edge.

“Apparently,” Buffy scrubbed at some rust on the blade of her sword where it joined the hilt, “this is Vinland. The Dragon of the North Sea must have blown us clean across the Ocean,”

“Thor help us!” gasped Sven.

“Yeah I know it’s a totally long way home,” Buffy shrugged, “but hey! That’s never bothered us before, right?”

“We’ve never had Olaf Trollsplitter with us before,” Sven pointed out.

“Yeah, you’re right,” all of Buffy’s previous good humour suddenly left her when she thought about the giant troll hunter.

“Well,” Sven picked up his axe and stood up; he placed his free hand on Buffy’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze, “when the time comes, Buffy, I’ll have your back.”

Watching Sven the Berserk walk away across the hall, Buffy tried to think of him as a romantic partner, it was obvious that one day soon Sven was going to invite her to share his sleeping furs. The thing was that when she imagined Sven thrusting his manhood into her she felt nothing. However, every time she looked at Helga the Fair, she found her nipples going painfully hard and she had to rush outside and dash cold water on her face.

Moaning miserably, Buffy wondered what was wrong with her. Okay there was nothing ‘wrong’ with doing it with girls, particularly if you didn’t want babies and didn’t want to be someone’s wife. But surely, she told herself, she should feel something when she looked at Sven. Sven was nice, when he wasn’t going Berserk, after all she was much stronger that even the strongest warrior so a little Berserk love making wouldn’t do her any harm. The thing was she just didn’t think of Sven like that.

0=0=0=0

By the time it was time for the evening merry making, Buffy’s party had cleaned and repaired all there gear; no one had burnt or looted anything and Buffy was pretty sure none of the village girls had been molested. Harald the Missionary had gone out to preach in the village market place. At first it seemed he’d got a good crowd who’d listened to him intently for some time. But then the villagers had started to laugh at some of the wilder claims Harald made for his god and everyone had eventually walked away and left him standing foolishly alone in the middle of the market.

The evening had progressed well, there’d been much ale, meat and good white bread. Stories had been told and retold as the warriors around the table laughed and drank together. Sitting up next to Jarl Torsig, Buffy looked out over the happy warriors to see a man who was obviously a foreigner.

“Who’s that?” Buffy turned to the Jarl as she pointed to the swarthy man who sat slightly apart from all the other merry makers.

“Adham Eban Fadlan, or something like that,” the Jarl replied, when he saw Buffy’s interest he added some more information. “He’s some sort of Arab prince or scholar, I’m not sure which, he doesn’t speak our language too well. He got washed up on our shores a couple of weeks ago…I’m sending him home on the first longship going that way.” The Jarl gave Buffy an incredulous look, “Y’know he doesn’t even drink ale?”

“By the gods!” Buffy gasped in shock, “You mean never?”

“Not a drop,” sighed the Jarl, “says his god doesn’t allow it or something.”

“Bloody foreigners and their weird gods,” Buffy agreed.

“So, Buffy the Viking,” Jarl Torsig said in a louder voice, “what brings you to our fair shores?”

It was time to explain the task that Freya had given her; Buffy stood up and took a mouthful of mead before starting to speak.

“My shield brothers and I are on a quest to turn back Fimbulwinter and prevent Ragnarok,” Buffy explained to the gasps of her audience.

Looking at the little blonde Shield Maiden, Jarl Torsig rested his chin in his hands and thought on this piece of intelligence. True the winters had been getting harder each year, even here in Vinland. The news from Norway was worse, travellers, like Buffy and her men, told of snow that lay on the ground all year round. Perhaps the little Shield Maiden was right, maybe Fimbulwinter had come and perhaps Ragnarok wasn’t too far behind it.

“So, Buffy the Viking,” Jarl Torsig asked, “how do you intend to throw back Fimbulwinter and prevent Ragnarok from destroying the world?”

“Freya the Wise told me that I had to ‘travel far out into the midst of the sea’, which we’ve totally done,” Buffy smiled. “Then find a land, which looks like here maybe,” she continued, “and a people in need of our bravery and skill” Buffy gestured to her warriors, “and help them without any thought of reward for ourselves, even if this means our deaths, only in this way can the cycle be broken and the sun returned to the sky!”

“A heavy responsibility indeed,” the Jarl nodded wisely.

“Totally!” Buffy replied with a firm nod of the head.

“It may be that I can help you and send you on your way,” Jarl Torsig gave Buffy a thin lipped smile before turning to one of his Huscarls who stood behind his chair, “bring the boy.”

Several minutes later a boy, no, more of a youth really in good clothing was brought to stand before the Jarl and Buffy.

“Boy!” Jarl Torsig called loudly, “Tell Buffy the Viking the story you told me…” Torsig turned to whisper in Buffy’s ear, “…his is a fantastic tale, but not without some truth I’m thinking…”

The boy began to speak.

“I am Wulfgar,” said the boy in a piping voice, “son of Jarl Hrothgar, a great Jarl whose lands lie north of this place. I come to ask for help in the name of my father,” Wulfgar turned his head to look directly at Buffy. “My father’s lands are under attack, its villages burnt and destroyed.” The boy’s voice became more urgent as he spoke, “We are menaced by an ancient evil, a terror…a terror that has no name…a terror that must not be named…”

“He probably means the Skrælingjar,” Jarl Torsig whispered, “they’re no trouble to us here but further north and west…” the Jarl shrugged his mighty shoulders, “…who knows? Call for the Wise Woman!” Jarl Torsig smiled down at Buffy, “If you’re interested then the old woman will know if anyone does, personally I thought this is all a fairy tale until you told your story.”

Moments later some hearth-wives led in an old woman. Buffy gasped in shock, it was Freya, she was sure of it. The old woman had the same dusky skin, the same piercing eyes and when she spoke, the same purring voice. The old woman was brought to stand in front of Buffy.

“So, Buffy the Viking” Freya purred, her voice still with that slight hint of mocking, “you have arrived at last” 

There were gasps from all around as the audience marvelled at how the Wise Woman knew Buffy’s name.

“Old Woman,” called Jarl Torsig, “the bones!”

Getting slowly down on her knees, Freya searched inside her rags to produce a handful of rune inscribed finger bones. After clearing a spot on the rush covered floor, she shock them in her hand like dice before rolling them across the floor. Everyone leaned forward to look as the bones bounced to a halt.

0=0=0=0


	6. Chapter 6

6.

Muttering insanely, Freya the Wise crawled on hands and knees around the cast bones as if she was trying to see them from every angle. Several times she picked up a bone to study it closely only to discard it with an angry curse. Slowly her muttering and agitated movements subsided and she became still and quiet. Fascinated Buffy stepped closer to the crazy woman in an attempt to get a better look at the bones.

With a cry, Freya sat up and stared Buffy right in the eyes, the old woman with the wild hair and rag-like cloths laughed as she held up a small statuette of a grossly fat woman. Stepping back in surprise, Buffy’s right hand started to move towards the hilt of her knife, but froze before it was even half way there. The old, mad, woman looked at Buffy with such intensity that Buffy felt she couldn’t move, like she was a mouse mesmerised by a snake.

“THIRTEEN!” cried Freya and the spell was lifted from Buffy and she found she could move again, “Thirteen warriors, the number of months in the year, must ride to Jarl Hrothgar’s hearth and fight the Skrælingjar, so that Fimbulwinter and Ragnarok can be turned back.” Freya seemed to subside for a moment as she knelt on the floor in front of Buffy.

Breathing heavily as if she’d run a long way to be there in the hall, Freya cast away the little statue of the fat woman. Muttering spells under her breath, she searched the scattered bones until she found the one she wanted. Laughing quietly she held up the bone; it was a pale, dirty yellow colour the runes scratched on its surface were smooth with age. Her eyes fixed on the fragment of old bone and Buffy found she couldn’t look away.

“Buffy the Viking,” once again Freya’s voice took on that purring slightly mocking tone Buffy remembered from their first meeting, “will you be the First Warrior?”

Feeling her heart pound in her chest, Buffy breathed rapidly as her eyes lay riveted to the piece of bone held in the old woman’s grubby fingers.

“I-I shall be the First Warrior,” Buffy replied in a strong, clear voice.

There was a cheer from the audience seated around the hall as Freya cast away the bone she was holding and picked out another.

“Who shall be the Second Warrior?” Freya held up the bone and looked around at all the faces that were staring down at her.

“I shall be the Second Warrior!” Sven the Berserk stepped forward and took the bone from Freya’s hand, the cheers got louder.

“Who shall be the Third Warrior?” Freya held up yet another bone and held it out to whoever was brave enough to take it from her fingers.

“I shall be the Third Warrior!” Thorfinn Skullsplitter stepped forward determined not to be upstaged by his friend and rival Sven, he snatched the bone from Freya’s hand and slipped it into his belt.

One by one and each for their own reasons Buffy’s warriors stepped forward and took a bone from Freya’s hand. As each man wedded his fate to that of Buffy the Viking the cheers got louder and louder. Eventually after even Olaf Trollsplitter had agreed to be the twelfth warrior the cheering subsided and a strange quiet fell over the hall. Slowly, Freya the Wise rose to her feet like a cat standing as it prepared to go out on the hunt. Stalking around the room, Freya looked into the very souls of the men that stood, drinking horns and tankards held forgotten in their hands.

“The thirteenth warrior,” Freya purred, her voice as smooth as silk, “must be no Northman or woman,” with an almost audible click all eyes turned to look at the man called Ahmad ibn Fahdlan, “he must be a foreigner,” Freya pointed a long, straight finger at the Arab who paled when his eyes made contact with those of he mad woman, “he is the Thirteenth Warrior!”

Looking over to where the Arab stood, Buffy got the distinct impression that he was about to bolt. Turning to her two most trusted warriors she gestured for them to step close and listen to her words.

“Sven, Thorfinn,” Buffy gestured to the Arab, “grab him!”

Moving quickly through the crowd the two big Vikings where soon standing either side of the nervous looking Arab thus preventing him from making a bolt for the door. Pinioning his arms to the side of his body they dragged him through the wildly cheering crowd until they were standing in front of Buffy.

“What’s your name, Arab?” Buffy asked as the cheering subsided a little.

“I am called Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan Ibn Al Abbas, Ibn Rasid…” the Arab began to recite a long list of names.

“Eban?” Buffy asked frowning a little.

“No, no!” cried the Arab, “Ibn means ‘son of’ I am Ahmed…”

“Eban,” Buffy looked to Sven and Thorfinn for conformation, the two big men nodded their agreement. “Welcome to our band, Eban,” Buffy clasped Eban’s hand and arm in a vice like grip as Sven and Thorfinn pounded him on his back hard enough to knock him over if he hadn’t been being held up by Buffy.

0=0=0=0

Sitting on his throne-like chair with his daughter perched on its arm, Jarl Torsig smiled as he watched Buffy and her men. They drank heavily of ale and mead as they boasted of all the brave deeds they would soon be doing.

“Well,” the Jarl glanced at his daughter, “that turned out easier than I’d expected.”

“Daddy you’re a bad, bad man!” Helga the Fair slapped her father’s shoulder playfully in mock reproach.

“What was I supposed to do, daughter?” Torsig gave his daughter a hurt look, “let them stay here and eat me out of house and home?” He gestured to the drunken Vikings who were rapidly getting drunker, “Look at them, daughter, I know their type, it won’t be long before they start molesting the farmer’s daughters and causing trouble…”

“You know their type because you are, or at least were, their type,” Helga told her father, “and their leader, Buffy, she’s so small and cute and…”

“What I might have been before I met your mother,” Torsig interrupted his daughter, “is neither here nor there.” Helga pouted at her father, “And as for that Shield Maiden girl being ‘small and cute’,” Torsig sighed, “if you want to take her to your bed tonight that’s fine by me but tomorrow morning I’m lending them some horses and sending them on their way!”

“Oh, daddy!” Helga whined tongue in cheek, “you’re so mean…” Helga’s face became serious as she looked into his eyes, “you know full well they’ll all die fighting the Skrælingjar along with Jarl Hrothgar.”

“Maybe they will,” Torsig shrugged as he slipped his arm around his daughter’s slim waist, “maybe they won’t, either way I win.” Torsig noticed the look his daughter was giving him, “Look, daughter mine, if they beat the Skrælingjar then all well and good. If they lose, then at least the Skrælingjar will have been weakened by the time they attack us here, then we will be able to beat them…”

“…and you’ll be able to claim all of Jarl Hrothgar’s lands as your own,” Helga pointed out, not only did the girl have beauty but she also had her fathers brains and a certain knack for intrigue that even made her father shiver.

“How well you know me, daughter,” Torsig squeezed Helga affectionately, “You know I’m doing this for you? With both your brothers dead you will inherit all my lands, when I am gone you will need a strong protector and safe borders.”

“I know daddy,” Helga gave her father a sad look as she remembered poisoning her brothers, she had loved them both and it had really upset her having to kill them. “You’re too good to me…” Helga gave her father a calculating smile, “…so good that if Buffy the Viking returns alive and well you might let me keep her, as a protector I mean…”

“And the rest,” Torsig laughed as he kissed his daughter on the cheek, he was well aware of his daughter’s tastes; well, he sighed, at least she wouldn’t present him with any fatherless brats for him to feed, clothe and shelter. “Now go,” he gave Helga a gentle push, “go and have your fun.”

0=0=0=0

Awakening to the sound of the usual dawn-chorus of belching, farting, coughing and retching, Buffy pushed herself up from the floor where she’d passed out the night before and groaned. Dry scrubbing her face with hands that trembled she cast her bleary eye along the top of a table, she needed something to drink. Her mouth tasted like a reindeer had done something unpleasant in it and she needed something to wash the foul taste away. Finding a tankard half full of stale beer, Buffy drank thirstily, moments later she was retching and coughing as her stomach rejected her early morning offering.

Sitting there couching and spitting, with her hair hanging down over her face, Buffy couldn’t help remembering that once upon at time she used to have more healthy breakfasts. Breakfast, or ‘rismel’ as the Viking in her explained, had once involved fruit and milk or maybe some sort of bread with fruit flavoured jelly spread on it. Suddenly, Buffy had a great yearning for the freshly squeezed juice of a round redish-yellow fruit. Instead she found another tankard of leftover ale and drank that instead. This time her stomach surrendered to her will and didn’t try to reject the liquid as it flowed through her; she farted loudly.

“Thor help me,” Buffy groaned as she got unsteadily to her feet, “where’s the privy?”

0=0=0=0

Several minutes later and feeling a lot more comfortable, Buffy wandered around to the front of the hall where she found a water trough. Quickly unravelling the remains of her braids, she took off her belt and shirt before plunging her head into the trough. The cold water revived her enough to allow some more memories of the previous night to bubble to the surface of her mind. Standing up and tossing her head back so her wet hair fell across her naked back, Buffy remembered the events of the night before.

Scooping water up with her hands she scrubbed at her face and underarms before splashing water across her breasts and arms. Remembering, she saw Freya handing out the bones to her warriors binding them to obey her orders for the duration of their quest. Then she remembered drinking as Helga the Fair sat beside her stroking her thigh and nipping at her ear with sharp white teeth. Then she remembered the girl leading her to her chamber where…

“Oh my!” Buffy gasped as her hands lingered over her hard nipples, “That’s totally disturbing,” she told herself.

Never mind, other memories were waiting to be reviewed. There had been a lot of drinking and laughing after Buffy had left Helga’s bed. The drinking had continued until all the Vikings had succumbed to the Jarl’s excellent ale and everyone had eventually passed out. Using her shirt as a towel, Buffy dried off her face and body before putting her damp shirt back on. Wringing the water from her hair the best she could, she slowly walked back into the great hall. Sitting down by the fire she took her comb from the pouch attached to her belt and started to comb her hair as she dried it by the fire. There was something else she should be remembering.

Visions of Sven, Thorfinn and Ivar the Boneless starting one of their drunken games of axe-darts flashed in front of her minds eye. No, she shook her head, that wasn’t it. Helga’s lily white breasts under her hands the girl’s nipples hard against her palms…no, while more fun than Axe-darts, it wasn’t what she was supposed to be remembering. Scenes of drinking games, arm wrestling (which she always won) and general drunken horse play all flashed before her eyes like scenes from a visit to some depraved adventure park. Then Freya’s face appeared in Buffy’s drink ravaged mind.

“Oh my gods!” Buffy squealed with pain as her comb got lost in her long hair, “The Arab!”

Of course, she kicked herself, the Arab. He’d looked to be ready to run the night before, he’d claimed to be no warrior, he was a poet a scholar he’d said he’d be no use to them in a fight. But, Freya had said he was the Thirteenth Warrior so the Thirteenth Warrior he was going to be. Frantically trying to free her comb from her hair, Buffy got up and kicked the sleeping form of the nearest Viking.

“Wot!?” Erik Broadaxe groaned as he looked up at Buffy from his spot on the floor.

“The Arab!” Buffy cried still struggling with her comb.

“The who?” Erik had by now pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“The Arab,” Buffy repeated, “wake the others, find him, don’t let him escape!”

If they started their quest without the Thirteenth Warrior they were surely doomed to death and dishonour!

0=0=0=0

As it turned out, Eban the Arab was recaptured just before he had the chance to ride his small skinny horse out of the village gate. Half a dozen Vikings dragged him back to the hall in triumph to stand him before Buffy, while Olaf Trollsplitter carried the Arab’s horse back to the stable.

Having cut her comb from the knot in her hair, Buffy plaited her hair into new braids with quick and nimble fingers. Watching the Arab as she plaited she wondered what she should do.

“Right guys,” Buffy’s eyes roamed over her warriors until they found the men she wanted. “Sven, Thorfinn make sure the Arab doesn’t get away. The rest of you get your gear together I want to be out of her…sorry…here before midday…I’m going to speak to the Jarl…now MOVE!”

Like a slightly hung over ants nest the Vikings started to move about collecting up their weapons and going to retrieve their mail and padded jackets from where they’d been drying in the kitchen. Tying some leather thongs around the end of her plaits, Buffy looked down at herself; apart from the food and drink stains on the front of her shirt she was good to go. The stains she could do nothing about so the Jarl would have to live with it.

0=0=0=0

As it happened the Jarl appeared not to notice Buffy’s stained shirt. In fact he generously lent Buffy and her band horses so that they could get to their destination all the quicker. After leaving the Jarl, Buffy was waylaid by Helga the Fair who dragged Buffy to her chamber where she bid her farewell in her own very special way.

Well before midday and still feeling a little flushed from her encounter with Helga, Buffy led her band out to where the horses waited for them. Mounting up, she decided against making a farewell speech, instead she thanked Jarl Torsig for his generosity before leading her band towards the settlement’s gate with the youth Wulfgar riding beside her and acting as their guide.

0=0=0=0

Watching as Buffy and her men rode away, Helga sighed a sad sigh, she was sad for two reasons. The Little Shield Maiden, Buffy the Viking, had gone and was riding to almost certain death, Helga would miss her. Even after so short an acquaintance Helga knew that Buffy would make a brave and true protector.

The Jarl’s daughter was also sad because she knew that if by chance Buffy the Viking did return having defeated the Skrælingjar and Helga persuaded her to stay… Well, then she’d have to poison her father so that she could inherit his lands. After all she couldn’t risk becoming Jarla without a protector; that way would lead to continual raids from her father’s rivals. But with the strong, brave and famous Buffy the Viking by her side she could achieve anything, perhaps even becoming the Queen of all Vinland.

0=0=0=0


	7. Chapter 7

7.

“So, Eban,” Buffy looked across at the Arab as she rode next to him, “how come you’re totally out here in Vinland…” Buffy frowned, “…wherever Vinland might be.”

“My name is Ahmed _Ibn_ …” Eban began but was interrupted by the short Viking woman by his side.

“Uh-huh,” Buffy nodded, “Eban.”

“No, it’s…” Eban saw the determined look in Buffy’s eyes and gave up; for the time being he’d be ‘Eban’. Shifting in his saddle, Eban sighed as he started to tell Buffy his story, “I was a poet, a scholar,” he explained, “until I fell in love with a beautiful woman…”

“Huh?” Buffy looked at Eban nonplussed, “They totally sent you here, wherever _here_ is, because you fell in love?” Buffy shook her head making her braids jiggle around her shoulders, “Weird!”

“No,” Eban smiled at Buffy’s puzzled face, “I was sent here because I fell in love with a beautiful woman who was married to a rich and powerful man.”

“Uh-huh, I see,” Buffy nodded her head wisely, “so basically they sent you out here to die?”

“That’s about the telling of it,” Eban agreed, “do you mind if I ask you something?”

“No, go ahead,” Buffy replied as she tried to ease her saddle sore butt.

“You’re a woman…” Eban began.

“Last time I checked,” Buffy agreed with a snort of laughter, “so?”

“So you’re a woman,” Eban looked truly puzzled, “yet you dress and act like a man, is that usual in the Northlands?”

“Not so much,” Buffy shrugged, “I’m totally different I’m a…” she wanted to say ‘Slayer’ but the words wouldn’t come out right, “…I’m a Shield Maiden,” she saw the puzzled look in Eban’s eyes, “that’s a girl who fights until she finds a man or sometimes a woman who she totally wants to settle down with.”

“A woman?” despite himself Eban was curious.

“Yeah,” Buffy shrugged, “sometimes girls like other girls,” she explained, “sometimes they like boys and girls, and other times they just like boys.”

“And you like…?” Eban prompted.

“So far…” Buffy examined her feelings for a moment, “…only girls, but, I’m not saying I couldn’t totally get to like guys I mean Sven’s nice…” Buffy saw the shocked look on Eban’s face and misread it, “…okay yeah, he’s a Berserk, but Berserks need love too and I’m way stronger than him so it’s not as if he could hurt me or anything…hey, Eban are you feeling okay?”

“W-What…?” Eban tried to speak but found his words wouldn’t come, eventually he managed to line up some words and let them out, “…and your god allows this?”

“ _Gods_ ,” Buffy corrected.

“Of course,” Eban agreed.

“Hey look,” Buffy pointed ahead, “smoke; that means we can’t be far from Jarl Hrothgar’s settlement.”

Following Buffy’s pointing finger, Eban could see no trace of smoke in the clear blue sky, either the blonde Northwoman had amazing eyesight or she was lying to bring an end to their conversation. Letting his horse slow a little, Eban dropped back from Buffy’s side so he could be alone with his thoughts for awhile. 

They’d started out from Jarl Torsig’s settlement yesterday at about noon. They’d ridden all afternoon with the boy, Wulfgar showing them the way. Towards dusk they’d made camp. Up until that point the two Vikings that Buffy trusted the most, Sven and Thorfinn, had been Eban’s constant companions. Buffy was frightened that he’d run off and thwart the old woman’s prophecy about the thirteenth warrior being a foreigner. However, as soon as they’d decided that they were far enough away from what passed as civilisation in these parts they’d left him alone.

These Vikings, Eban decided as he looked around at his companions, were decent enough folk. But, like a lot of barbarian folk they could suddenly change from happy, friendly people into blood crazed, homicidal maniacs. So far the only fighting he’d seen was rather rough horseplay, but the swords and axes that the warriors carried looked too well cared for to just be for show. Another thought struck Eban which he now realised he should have brought up with Buffy; namely, why were all these extremely male warriors following such a little woman, indeed any woman, without complaint. True the giant, Olaf didn’t seem too happy but most of the others appeared to accept her leadership without too much protest. These were a strange and wild people, Eban told himself and if he ever got back to his home lands he’d have some fantastic tales to tell his family and friends.

Looking up at the sound of a cry from the head of the small column, Eban saw that Buffy did indeed have excellent eyesight. Coming around a bluff, Eban saw the settlement of Jarl Hrothgar. It looked a very poor place compared to Jarl Torsig’s home. True there was a great wooden hall sitting on the highest point of a ridge surrounded by lesser buildings, but the fields looked ill tended and were scattered with the remains of tree stumps that no one had bothered to clear. Shivering and ill at ease, Eban could almost smell the death surrounding the place.

0=0=0=0

“This is a poor place,” Sven looked around at the few hairy cows that stared at them from the fields.

“Uh-huh,” Buffy nodded her head, they were closer now and she could see frightened people look up at her from the doors of their houses, “hardly a man of fighting age left in the place.”

“No warriors, no ditch,” Thorfinn spat onto the track, “not even a decent fence; a flock of sheep could storm and hold this place.”

Riding through the settlement, Buffy was struck by the dull looks of despair she saw in people’s eyes. Here there were no fierce Huscarls guarding the entrance to the village or even the great hall. Here there were no tradesmen busily at work in their workshops with their goods on display. This place looked like everyone had given up and were just waiting for death to claim them. Dismounting outside the Great Hall, Buffy signalled for Sven and Thorfinn to join her.

“Sven, you command here,” Buffy told the berserk, “make sure no one takes it into their heads to loot the place.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” Sven shrugged as he gave the village a disgusted look, “there doesn’t look as if there’s anything worth looting.”

“All the same,” Buffy replied before turning to Thorfinn, “Thorfinn you come in with me and let’s bring the Arab, you never know he might come in useful.”

“Yeah,” Thorfinn laughed quietly, “maybe he can recite some poetry.”

“Whatever,” Buffy shrugged and set off towards the door of the great hall with Thorfinn following close behind and Eban running to catch up.

0=0=0=0

Drawing her sword, Buffy knocked on the great wooden door with its pommel. The sound of her knocking echoed and re-echoed around the hall. Studying the door she saw that once it had been a finely carved work of art. Now it was scuffed and pitted with the marks of hard use, along the bottom edge she could see where the wood was beginning to swell and split as the damp got into it. There was even green mould starting to grow in the carvings that decorated the door with the fantastic shapes of dragons and sea monsters.

“Who is without?” called a voice from within.

“I am Buffy the Viking and I bring myself and my men on an errand to your lord,” Buffy replied formally.

Moments later the doors started to moan and squeak as they were pulled open. A man with long grey hair greeted them on the threshold and ushered them into the dimly lit interior. Taken along a short, wide corridor, Buffy and her two followers found themselves in a large hall. Unlike Jarl Torsig’s hall this one was round, it had a great fire in the middle with the smoke escaping through a large hole in the roof that also let in the light rain that had started just before they’d entered the building. There were braziers hanging from the great wooden pillars, each made from a single great tree trunk, which held up the roof. The braziers added a little more light to the smoky air and stopped the place from feeling too cold and damp.

Advancing into the open area, Buffy turned to look at the lord of the hall, Jarl Hrothgar, who sat hunched up in a fur cloak on his great chair. He was flanked on one side by a golden haired youth (obviously his eldest son) and on the other by a red haired maiden. The youth looked ill at ease in his mail shirt and nervously fingered the hilt of his sword that hung from his finely tooled belt. Buffy hardly noticed the young man because she had eyes only for the girl…the red haired girl…the girl who could have been the twin of the girl she’d killed by accident when she’d first awoken into this world.

“MY LORD!” cried the retainer who’d shown Buffy into the Hall, “this is Buffy the…”

“I know Buffy the Viking,” cried Jarl Hrothgar in a surprisingly strong voice, “I knew her father…”

Buffy realised that one reason she couldn’t remember her father was that he’d never been at home. He’d certainly seemed to have got around a lot.

“…grown to a fine woman…” muttered the Jarl his voice getting quieter as his mind drifted off to some happier time, “…a fine strong woman.”

Squaring her shoulders and ignoring the daggers looks the Jarl’s son was giving her, Buffy marched across the hall and walked right up to the Jarl. Resting a hand on the back of the old man’s seat she brought her lips close to Jarl Hrothgar’s ear.

“What is wrong with this place?” she asked.

0=0=0=0

“You know he might be mad?” Ivar the Boneless observed nervously; they were all standing outside in the sunlight now the rain had passed.

“Be in the mist,” Buffy ordered Snorri the Miserable, who was known for not only being miserable but was also as a famed tracker.

Muttering about the dire fate that awaited them all, Snorri mounted his pony and trotted towards the forest that loomed ominously around the settlement.

“Has anyone seen one?” laughed Thorfinn Skullsplitter, “Has anyone seen one in a hundred years or more?”

“They say they used to live all over this land,” muttered Ulf the Unmemorable whom everyone had forgotten was even there, “and worse further north.”

“People say many things,” Leif the Lucky shrugged.

“Whatever they are,” Buffy sighed tiredly, “unless we can track them we’ll need to build defences, a stockade and ditch at the very least.”

“I’m not a farmer,” Olaf Trollsplitter complained, “I don’t want to build a fence,” he turned to look at the other Vikings, “lets burn this dump, rape all the girls and…uuuugh!”

“Look!” Buffy said angrily having punched Olaf in the genitals once again; she ignored the man as he writhed in pain on the ground, “How many times do I have to say it? NO RAPING!” she glared at her followers, “Okay?”

There was a chorus of mumbled assent from the Vikings who all appeared to be wincing in sympathetic pain with Olaf.

“Right,” Sven broke the silence that had fallen over the group, “let’s go track the bastards and slaughter them where they sleep!”

“Aye!” agreed about half the Vikings, Buffy thought the plan had a certain forthright simplicity to it and nodded her head in partial agreement.

Having had nothing to contribute to the discussion (Eban had said he was no warrior) the Arab had wandered away from the Vikings and was looking out over the meadows below the settlement and towards the dark, dank forest. His eyes caught a flash of movement as something small ran towards the village. Screwing up his eyes he concentrated to see what the object was. His eyes growing wide again he cried out a warning.

“Gentlemen…and Lady,” he pointed down into the meadow as the Vikings came to join him.

Seeing the child, the Vikings ran to their ponies and mounted up. They rode down to the meadow joined by several of the villagers and the Jarl’s red haired daughter as they went. Galloping towards the child, Buffy could see the little boy was naked and covered in blood, she guessed that by the way he was running silently towards them he wasn’t actually injured. Riding up to the boy, Sven brought his horse to a sliding halt and jumped from the saddle. Bending down he grabbed the boy by the shoulders.

“Who did this?” Sven raged as the red mist of the berserker rage quickly descended behind his eyes, “Who did this!?”

“Find someone that knows him,” Buffy ordered knowing they’d get no useful information out of the child by having strangers yelling at him.

“I know him,” the Jarl’s daughter jumped from her horse and walked swiftly towards the boy.

Taking off her cloak she wrapped it around the terrified child’s shoulders, lifting him up she handed him over to one of the villagers who’d joined the band.

“I know him,” the red haired girl repeated, “he lives at a farmstead down the glen,” she pointed towards the trees, “I’ll show you.”

0=0=0=0

It was an ancient forest, great trees grew closely together trying their hardest to block out the sun. Under the trees ferns grew tall trying to reach the sky but only succeeding in making the forest darker and more sinister. No birds sang and no cute, fluffy, woodland creatures peeped at the Vikings from the undergrowth as they rode by.

“The farm is down there,” whispered Elfwin, the Jarl’s daughter, as she brought her pony to a halt next to Buffy’s.

“Dismount,” Buffy called quietly, “we’ll leave the horses here.” Buffy knew that men could move much more quietly than horses, “Eban,” Buffy called the Arab over, “you stay here and protect the horses and Lady Elfwin.” She turned and took a spare sword from where it hung from her saddle, “here,” she handed the sword to Eban, “you might want this.”

“I can’t use this,” Eban said as he hefted the weapon in his hand, “it’s too heavy.”

“Then grow stronger,” Buffy sniggered as she drew her own sword, a brother to the one that Eban now carried, with ease.

Signalling to her warriors to spread out and surround the little farmstead that sat in a small sunlit clearing just ahead, Buffy paused in the shelter of a giant tree to watch the house. Leif the Lucky and Ulf the Unmemorable had their bows strung and arrows notched on their strings. The other warriors had stealthily surrounded the hut, satisfied that everyone was in place; Buffy was just about to signal for them to move in when a great shout shattered the silence of the forest.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!” Screamed Sven the Berserk as he rushed towards the house, sword in one hand axe in the other.

“Or we could just do that,” Buffy told herself quietly as she got to her feet and started to jog towards the farm, coming out of cover the rest of the Vikings followed suit.

“AAAAAGH!” shrieked Sven as he ran right into the door without slowing down.

The door gave way to the irresistible force of Sven the Berserk, and the Viking disappeared into the house. Running up to where the remains of the door hung on its leather hinges, Buffy could hear furniture and pottery being smashed as Sven ‘searched’ the interior for enemies. Suddenly everything went quiet and Sven reappeared in the doorway, he looked down at Buffy and shrugged.

“No one home, just some bodies,” Sven told Buffy before asking, “fancy a shag?”

0=0=0=0


	8. Chapter 8

8.

“I only asked!” Sven rubbed the spot on his head where Buffy had hit him with the pommel of her sword.

Pushing her way passed Sven, Buffy ducked her head and entered the half-light of the of the small farm house. The first thing that struck her was the coppery smell of blood, lots of blood. It was tacky on the floor and made her boots stick to the rough hewn floor boards. The farmer had been beheaded and hung by his ankles from a rafter. The farmer’s wife had also been beheaded but she lay in a pool of her own congealing blood on the floor not far from where her husband hung. It was obvious to Buffy that she’d been raped before she’d been killed and perhaps afterwards too. Turning slowly she saw the dismembered bodies of several children.

“Leif?” Buffy frowned as she turned to the young warrior who was standing grim faced by the door, “Go ask Lady Elfwin how many people lived here.”

With a nod the young man turned and left the house glad to be away from the stench of death. Something was bothering Buffy about the scene inside the farmhouse. Somehow she knew that she’d seen this sort of thing before; either in her life as a Viking Shield Maiden or in that dream-like life from before. Obviously she was no stranger to death and blood, which was why she had the feeling there was something wrong with the picture she was looking at.

“Six,” Leif reappeared in the door way, “Lady Elfwin says six,” he repeated, “the farmer his wife and four children, one still a babe in arms.”

Glancing around, Buffy did a quick ‘head’ count, coming up with an unpleasant answer she counted again. There should be enough body parts for five corpses, there wasn’t. The best she could see there were enough bits and pieces to make about three-and-a-half. Disturbed in her musings, Buffy looked up to see Eban come into the house. The young Arab’s face went from its usual swarthy complexion to deathly pale in a heartbeat. Stoically he remained in the house for as long as he could, but soon the sights and smell of the place proved too much for him. Buffy watched as he rushed out of the open door, she gave a tight lipped smile as she heard him retching outside, no one laughed at him.

“So it’s true,” Thorfinn said to Buffy as she joined the rest of her band in the clean, forest scented air outside the house.

“No horse tracks,” Snorri called from a little further down the glen, “as if we’d be so lucky…” he pointed to some strange bestial tracks in the soft earth, “…they were afoot.”

“They took the heads,” Buffy told her warriors.

“The child must have crawled into a hole to escape,” Sven said still rubbing his head where Buffy had hit him.

“They’ve been…gnawed upon,” gasped Eban as he leant against a tree for support; Buffy noted how the colour was coming back to his face.

“It is said,” Thorfinn Skullsplitter began slowly, “that they eat the dead…”

“Well, that’s better than eating the living,” Snorri the Miserable announced as he rejoined the group.

“Thank-you for those images, Snorri,” Buffy replied with false jollity, “now go see if you can find some more tracks and follow them, take…” Buffy gestured vaguely trying to think of the warrior’s name who she wanted to go with the tracker, “oh…you know…that guy…tall, fair…?”

“Ulf the Unmemorable?” Snorri asked morosely.

“Yeah that’s him…” Buffy agreed, “…now go!”

“Wh-what kind of a man could do that?” Eban asked aghast.

“It wasn’t men who did this,” Thorfinn said in a low voice, “it was the Skrælingjar.”

“SHH!” Shh-ed Sven as he looked around the forest as if expecting to see hundreds of Skrælingjar waiting to attack them.

The truth was Buffy knew how Sven felt, for the last several moments she’d had the unpleasant feeling that someone or something was watching them.

“They are here!”

All eyes turned to where Erik Broadaxe stood balancing a small, black statuette of a grossly fat woman on the tip of his sword. Bending over the blade Keitel Blacksmith spat on the statue before turning and walking back to towards the horses.

“What is it?” Eban asked as Erik tossed the statue to one side; Eban knelt to retrieve it from the side of the path.

“The Mother of the Skrælingjar,” Erik explained.

The sound of hoof beats made everyone look away from Eban and the little black statue he held in his hand, Snorri and what’s-his-name had returned from their scouting mission.

“The trail?” Buffy called.

“Ends in the rocks at the end of the glen,” Snorri called dispiritedly.

“So they are clever,” Thorfinn announced.

“When did you become such an expert?” Buffy wanted to know.

“And cautious,” Snorri added as he rode closer, “and there’s more…”.

0=0=0=0

After setting the house afire, Buffy led her warriors back towards the settlement’ all the time feeling that she and her men were being watched.

“You sure the tracks disappeared at the end of the glen?” she asked Snorri.

“Yeah,” the tracker nodded his head, “but that’s not to say they didn’t double back and are lying in ambush somewhere up ahead.”

“Well thank-you for those words of comfort,” Buffy sighed.

“Would you prefer I lied?” Snorri asked gloomily.

“Yes!” Buffy urged her horse forward so she could ride nearer to the Lady Elfwin.

Admiring the red head from just a few feet away, Buffy once again couldn’t believe how much she looked like the girl in the hut. Just as she was about to strike up a conversation with the young woman she was interrupted by a call from Snorri.

“To the right, on the ridge,” Snorri called as they rode out into an area where the trees had been cleared.

Buffy turned and watched the wood-line to see dear moving about at the edge of the forest.

“And to the left,” Snorri announced sombrely, “on the hill.”

Again Buffy turned to see deer moving about and then, just for half a heartbeat, no more, she thought she saw the shape of a man silhouetted against the skyline.

“Something drove them out,” Thorfinn said softly.

“I think they’re watching us,” Snorri said gravely, “probably waiting for the moment they can come down and slaughter us all and cut off our heads and eat us and…”

“Snorri!” Buffy said sharply.

“What?” the tracker turned to look at her.

“Shhh,” Buffy told him; she turned to Thorfinn who seemed to know all about Skrælingjar, “If we chase?”

“They’ll melt away,” Thorfinn told her.

“Will they come to us?” Buffy wanted to know.

“The farmers say they come with the mist,” Thorfinn explained.

“So, if there’s a fog,” Sven said with a bloodthirsty gleam in his eye, “they will come.”

0=0=0=0

“We are hunted now in our own land,” Jarl Hrothgar announced from the head of the table.

It was later now and Buffy and her men had got back to the settlement some time ago. After storing their gear the warriors sat down around the long table in the great hall to eat and discover what they could about their enemies.

“It wasn’t always so…” Jarl Hrothgar said sadly.

Stopping herself from pointing out that this land had once belonged to the Skrælingjar, Buffy once again found her eyes wandering over to the red haired maid sitting at her father’s side.

“…at first we thought to build,” the Jarl continued, “to leave something…”

Buffy eyes looked up from the pretty red-head to where Ulf the Unmemorable and Ivar the Boneless walked around the balcony above the hall setting torches to give them more light to see any attacking Skrælingjar by.

“…farms as far as the eye could see…” the old Jarl continued while out in the night dark shapes shifted between the giant trees.

“What about the places to the north?” Buffy asked the Jarl.

“Estwyck was burned,” the old Jarl said sadly, he looked to his daughter for confirmation, “two years past.” He sighed heavily, “And of the others we’ve had no word not for some months…at night,” whispered the Jarl, “with the drink upon them…”

Buffy put her hand over her cup as a serving wench tried to pour her some more ale.

“We don’t drink tonight,” Buffy whispered to Sven and Thorfinn who sat on either side of her, they passed the message up and down the line of seated warriors.

Out in the dark, black man-shapes, flitted from dark shadow to darker shadow as they silently moved closer to the settlement.

“…but let the dawn come,” the Jarl’s voice was little more than a whisper now, “and they see the bodies…”

“This Maid has the look of a great warrior,” the Jarl’s son, whose name was Wigliff the Un-Reddy (because he didn’t have red hair), he sneered at Buffy, “No doubt she’s very brave…but to face the Skrælingjar she’ll need some amazing luck!”

“Luck might totally save a warrior if he’s brave enough,” Buffy pointed out choosing to ignore Wigliff the Un-Reddy’s sneering tone.

“That’s as maybe,” Un-Reddy replied, “but wait for the Skrælingjar in one-night’s time and then talk to us about courage and luck.”

“I totally thank the Jarl’s son for his advice,” Buffy replied coldly.

“I don’t recall hearing any exploits of his!” Sven started to rise from his seat as he glared across the table at Wigliff the Un-Reddy, “apart from stabbing his older brother in the back!”

Going for his sword, Wigliff the Un-Reddy stood up knocking over a tankard of ale as he did so.

“You sit down and be silent!” called the Jarl from the head of the table, “These are guests in what is still my hall.”

Giving his father a daggers look, Wigliff stormed out of the hall. Unnoticed by any of Buffy’s band, Olaf Trollsplitter quietly rose to his feet and followed the Jarl’s son out of the hall.

“There is a man who was at Estwyck,” the Jarl said to Buffy, “listen to his story and you will see.”

0=0=0=0

“I saw the thing that did this,” the man gestured to the patch over his left eye, “clear enough.”

The Jarl had sent for the refugee from Estwyck and he now sat on a stool near the fire as he told his tale.

“Teeth like a lion,” the survivor told his story with relish, “head like a bear, claws that could tear a plank to kindling. They come in the night, in the mist…” one of the serving girls passed him a tankard of ale, he drank thirstily and held it out for a refill. “…always in the darkness, like they could see in the black.”

“Did they go on two legs or four?” Harold the Missionary asked nervously.

“It seems they did both,” the story teller sounded unsure of himself, “like a thing that was both man and beast….though myself I cannot tell,” The one eyed man took a deep breath, “I saw the glow-worm though…” he drank deeply again and Buffy saw his hand shake as he brought the mug to his mouth. “Saw it clear, we all did on that last night…saw it come down from the hills through the mist, slithering this way and that, as long as a hundred ships it was…spitting fire at us as it came.” The story teller shook his head sadly, “My father’s father always warned of it…said it was a ‘hate’ from the old times.”

As the man finished his story, Snorri came up behind Buffy’s chair and bent to whisper in her ear.

“There will be fog,” he murmured in a doom laden voice.

Glancing up Buffy’s eyes fell on the red-haired girl, she seemed to be able to sense what was in Buffy’s mind because she gave a slight nod of her head and stood up. Going over to one of the serving wenches she whispered urgently in the girl’s ear.

“Bring me my armour!” cried the Jarl realising something was wrong, he turned to look at Buffy, “I will stand the watch with you.”

Buffy smiled, the Jarl might be old and beaten down with worry but he was still a brave man, a true Viking…unlike his son.

“Erm,” Buffy hesitated, she’d caught the pleading look Elfwin had given her, “the children will need protection. If the Skrælingjar get passed us then you must stop them.”

The old man looked from Buffy and then to his daughter and smiled sadly, he knew that the Shield Maiden spoken the truth.

0=0=0=0

Within moments the hall was alive to the sound of men shouting and weapons being readied as other men and women pushed heavy furniture to block up the doors and windows. When all was nearly ready the women, children and the old were sent down into the cellar under the hall. Lady Elfwin helped her father down the narrow stairs, before he disappeared into the dark he looked up at Buffy and smiled sadly.

“Luck in battle, Shield Maiden,” he reached out and squeezed her hand like she was his own daughter.

0=0=0=0

“How can you sleep at a time like this?” Eban asked Thorfinn as he watched the big Viking lay out his bedroll on the floor of the hall.

“The ‘Old Father’ wound the skeane of your life a long time ago,” Thorfinn explained, he looked up at Eban and grinned, “Go hide in a hole if you wish, but you won’t live one instant longer…your fate is fixed,” Thorfinn lay down and got himself comfortable, “fear profits a man nothing.”

“Of course,” Harald the Missionary’s voice came from Eban’s opposite side, “it’s all nonsense about your life being fore told, when its all really in the hands of our Lord…”

“ _Your_ Lord,” Eban pointed out as he followed Thorfinn’s example and lay down on his blankets.

“Granted,” Harald admitted, “but you know, now might be a good time to convert, later...” Harald gave a shrug when he saw that Eban wasn’t interested. “Oh well,” Harald lay down and clutching his bible turned over and went to sleep.

“Sven,” Buffy whispered as she snuggled up to Sven for a little added warmth, “I’m sorry about hitting you…”

“Never mind,” Sven yawned, he turned over and slipped his arm around Buffy’s waist, “I probably deserved it.”

0=0=0=0

Waking up with a gasp of fear, Eban looked around at the sleeping forms of the Vikings in the flickering fire light. Dreams full of blood and vaguely seen horrors in the dark had woken him. Comforted by the sounds of snoring coming from all around him, he sighed, just a dream he told himself, nothing more.

“AGH!” He cried out as Thorfinn grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down onto his blanket.

It was only then that Eban realised that the warriors weren’t asleep, they were all in fact very much awake and watching the shadows for danger while they grasped their weapons. Listening intently, Eban thought he could hear the sound of soft footsteps out side the hall. Resisting the urge to get up and run, he looked around to see what the others were doing.

Wood creaked as a dark shape passed by one of the barricaded windows, something was out there trying to find a way in. There was more creaking and more shadows shifting in the darkness, Eban could almost feel the warriors tense around him as his own heart hammered at his chest in a mixture of fear and excitement.

“When they come,” Thorfinn whispered from beside him, “we form a circle in the centre of the room, back to back, understand?”

“I am _not_ a warrior,” Eban explained once again.

“Very soon,” Thorfinn slowly drew his sword, “you will be.”

0=0=0=0


	9. Chapter 9

9.

Scrambling to his feet, Eban was just in time to see the barricade at one window explode inwards and an avalanche of dark shapes pour into the hall. He dragged his sword from its scabbard and made ready to defend himself. The sword _was_ too heavy, he could feel the strain on his wrist even now. Of course in his youth he’d learnt to fight, but that was with one of his people’s much lighter scimitars not this great meat cleaver that he now held in his trembling hands.

~

Jumping lithely to her feet, Buffy pulled her sword from its sheath with a flourish. Up on the balcony the Skrælingjar poured through the broken down barricade like a great black flood. Smiling she raised her sword and advanced on her enemy as all around her the shouts of alarm from her comrades filled the air. The Skrælingjar would not profit from attacking in the night because she could see in the dark. With cat-like grace, she jumped up onto an overturned table; swinging her sword she smiled as she felt it bite as it cut through flesh and bone.

~

By now the hall seemed full of struggling shapes, all the windows had been forced in and the hall was being filled by wild men (at least Eban hoped they were men) dressed in what looked like bear skins. Knocked off his feet by a struggling pair of combatants, Eban decided to stay where he was for the moment. Crouching on the floor he had the impression of men struggling with dark shapes, the sound of iron slicing into flesh and the screams of the wounded and dying assaulted his ears. A few feet away he saw the foolish priest, Harald, smash an attacker across the mouth with the holy book he always carried. The Skræling attacking the priest span away from his opponent spiting teeth and blood, only to run onto Ivar the Boneless’ sword blade. 

Climbing to his feet, Eban prepared to fight, a Skræling huge in his bear skin rushed at him. Prodding ineffectually at the savage with his sword, Eban gave ground until he found himself backed up against one of the hall’s massive wooden columns. Unable to retreat any further he tried to lunge at his opponent. The Skræling knocked Eban’s sword aside with contemptuous ease. Raising his club-like weapon the Skræling struck at Eban.

Jerking back his head just in time to prevent his brains from being dashed out, Eban felt fire score its way across his left cheek as the claw tipped club cut bloody lines across his face. Screaming in surprise and pain he put his hand to his face, it came away wet. Snarling in anger he lunged once more at his attacker. He felt and heard the blade enter the Skræling’s stomach, the man grunted in shock; Eban didn’t know who was the most surprised, himself or the Skræling.

~

Standing on her table, Buffy swung her sword and felt it pass easily through the skins the savages wore and slice into their flesh. Screams filled the air as blood fountained from wounds to splatter the combatants with its warm wetness. Taking a short break from her bloody execution, Buffy paused for a moment to see how the battle was going. Over in one corner of the hall she could see Olaf Trollsplitter hurling assailants through the air as he cleared some space for himself. Once free of attackers he raised his great hammer and laid about himself smashing Skrælingjar to bloody pulp and forcing the others back.

She saw Harald and Ivar standing back to back keeping the foe at bay; she saw Sven in his berserk rage hacking at the enemy left and right with sword and axe. Blood flew in great fans of crimson as Thorfinn watched his friend’s back and cut down his own fair share of foes.

Turning Buffy gasped as she saw Erik Broadaxe disappear under a wave of Skrælingjar. There was a short struggle before the attackers split up to leave Erik’s headless corpse lying on the floor. With a great high-pitched scream of anger, Buffy leaped from her vantage point to land in the middle of a group of Skrælingjar. Her sword rose and fell sending limbs spinning through the air as the blood spurted and men screamed.

“FORCE THEM BACK!” Cried Buffy as loudly as she could, “PUSH THEM BACK OUTSIDE!”

~

Shocked that his opponent was still alive, Eban just stood there as the Skræling knocked his blade aside and grabbed him by the shoulders. In desperation, Eban tried to knee his opponent in the crotch but only got himself tangled up in the warrior’s bearskin costume. Crying out in alarm he felt himself being lifted off his feet and held above the Skræling’s head. The last thing he was aware of was flying through the air and landing with a bone jarring thump on the floor.

~

“OUT! OUT! OUT!” Buffy chanted as she pushed the enemy back, jabbing and slashing with her sword as she forced the savage men to give ground before her.

Slowly the other Viking warriors got the idea and joined her making a ragged line as they advanced across the hall. Seeming to realise that the fight was lost the Skrælingjar gave ground and started to filter out through the broken in windows. As quickly as the attack had begun it ended. One moment Buffy was thrusting her sword blade into the belly of the man-bear in front of her the next he was gone. Standing in a huddle by the window the Vikings panted as the watched the Skrælingjar melt into the darkness.

“No pursuit,” Buffy warned; who knew how many Skrælingjar waited out there in the darkness; not even her cat-like eyesight could penetrate the almost solid dark under the trees.

Turning to survey the site of their victory, Buffy cried out in alarm, “Where’s the bodies?” she demanded.

The other Vikings turned at her shout and looked out over the wrecked hall. Of blood, even body parts there were plenty but of the dead Skrælingjar there was no sight.

“I killed two at least,” said Ivar the Boneless.

“As did I!” called another Viking from out of the darkness.

“We all killed or maimed our fair share,” Buffy called, “bring torches.”

Moments later Snorri had several torches lit and handed them around. It was as Buffy feared, not one Skræling body could she see. Their blood however stained the walls and the floor, their limbs lay scattered on the ground, but of the dead Skrælingjar there was no sign.

“Demons,” muttered Harald the Missionary as he clutched his blood stained bible to his chest.

“Their blood looks human enough to me,” Buffy held up her sword for all to see.

“Aye!” laughed Thorfinn Skullsplitter as he helped Eban back to his feet, “Even our little brother got one so they can’t be demons!”

“The one I fought still had some life in him,” Eban explained as Thorfinn set him back on his feet.

Turning as she held her torch up high, Buffy saw the bodies of Erik Broadaxe, Thorkatla the Indiscreet and whats-his name…Buffy struggled to remember the man’s name… Ulf the Unmemorable, that was it; she only just managed to stop herself from cheering for remembering the man’s name. Her happiness at her achievement soon left her when she noticed that each of her dead warriors was missing his head.

“Old Father!” Buffy gasped; her remaining warriors stood around looking down at the bodies of their comrades and friends.

“Come on men,” Thorfinn Skullsplitter said quietly, “this won’t get our friends to Valhalla…help me,” he bent to pick up Erik Broadaxe’s body.

“Maybe if we had a proper leader,” rumbled Olaf Trollsplitter, “Erik, Thorkatla and whats-his name…”

“Ulf,” Ivar the Boneless supplied helpfully.

“…Ulf,” Olaf turned to Ivar and nodded his thanks, “instead of this little girl, our friends wouldn’t be starting out for Valhalla right now.”

“You have a problem with my style of leadership, Olaf Trollsplitter?” Buffy turned on the giant her eyes dark under her brows “I suppose you would have done better?”

“I wouldn’t have let three brave men die for nothing,” Olaf towered over the tiny woman his hammer cocked and ready.

“I think the reason that our dearly departed friends died,” Harald the Missionary pointed out while trying to be ‘Harald the Peacemaker’, “had something to do with the Skrælingjar.” He looked from Buffy to Olaf and back again, “Let’s not do the savage’s work for them particularly when the bodies of three brave men lie at our feet.”

“Of course,” Buffy let out a great sigh, “you’re totally right Harald.”

“Huh!” Olaf grunted before turning away and starting to clean bits of skull and brain off his hammer.

“You’ll need to do something about him,” Thorfinn whispered in Buffy’s ear.

“Thorfinn’s right,” Sven growled softly, “do you want me too…?”

“Guys,” Buffy smiled at her two most trusted companions, “guys, I can totally fight my own battles…” she looked down at the corpses of her fallen warriors, “… _after_ we’ve sent these guys on their way.”

0=0=0=0

The following day broke with a clear sky and no sign of the clouds of the day before or the mist of the previous night. As the sun rose over the horizon the surviving warriors sent their friends off to start their journey to Valhalla. Then they turned away from the funeral fires and started the villagers on building the defences for the village.

They lined up the men and woman and had them start to dig a ditch; the spoil was shovelled onto the settlement side of the ditch to make a bank. While the ditch was being dug other men were sent to find wood to make a stockade or stakes with which to line the ditch.

“I see, Eban has made a friend,” Thorfinn pointed to where the Arab stood talking to a pretty blonde girl when he should have been putting points on the stakes being driven into the bank of the ditch.

“Well, at least we’ve got one friend,” Buffy looked around a concerned frown on her face, “the villagers seem very quiet today. You’d think after we beat the Skrælingjar last night they’d be happy.”

“But it cost us three good men,” Thorfinn pointed out.

“And how many more of them did we kill?” Buffy wanted to know.

“Where are their bodies?” Thorfinn asked with a shrug.

“Oh don’t _you_ get totally moody on me too,” Buffy sighed tiredly.

“He’s right,” Sven pointed out; “if we had their bodies…” the Berserk shrugged his muscular shoulders once again, “…and the villagers think we’ll bring the Fire Serpent down on them.”

“The Fire Serpent?” Buffy laughed, “A dragon?” she added slightly louder than necessary so the villagers nearby could hear, “I totally don’t believe in dragons.”

“Now you’re beginning to sound like Harald,” Thorfinn laughed before becoming sombre again, “but the villagers do believe in dragons…”

“Bleeding villagers,” Buffy muttered angrily, “we need to keep their minds off the Skrælingjar until we can give them a clear cut victory.”

“The work will help…” Sven was pointing out as Eban walked over to join them.

Smiling in greeting, Buffy looked the Arab up and down and noted how he’d changed over the last few days. His clothes were dirty (like everyone else’s), the front of his shirt was stained with blood from the three deep scratches across his face and he’d done something weird to his sword.

“What have you done?” Buffy laughed, “That was a perfectly good sword, now…” she stopped speaking being lost for words.

“I told you it was too heavy,” Eban drew his modified blade; somehow he’d made the blade narrower and slightly curved, “now…” he threw the sword up in the air and caught it deftly and without any sign of strain.

Next he twirled it about Buffy’s head so she could feel the wind of its passing against her cheek; she smiled at the Arab’s boastful sword play. Finally he took a swing at a nearby post neatly cutting the top off and making a sharp looking point.

“It works,” Eban smiled happily.

“Give an Arab a sword,” smirked Sven, “and he makes it into a knife.”

“When you die,” Thorfinn asked with a wide grin, “can I give that to my daughter?”

“I hope you’ve not been showing your _weapon_ to that girl,” Buffy nodded to where the girl stood clutching an earthenware jug to her bosom.

“The girl is who I want to talk to you about,” Eban’s tone was serious now with no hint of the earlier banter between the friends.

“Look,” Buffy rested her hand on Eban’s shoulder and spoke quietly to the Arab like he was her brother, “if you want to shag the girl, go ahead you don’t have to ask my permission!” Sven and Thorfinn laughed out loud. “As long as you don’t try to force her,” Buffy added warningly, “I’ve no problem…”

“No!” Eban rolled his eyes, “That’s not what I meant…” he took a deep breath, “…Sigrun …”

“Oh its _Sigrun_ now is it?” Sven pointed out with a laugh.

“No….yes!” Eban was getting flustered.

“Hey, guys!” Buffy held up her hand for quiet, “Let’s not embarrass Eban about his love life, let’s hear what he wants to say.”

“Thank-you,” Eban nodded his thanks to Buffy and began to recount the information passed to him by Sigrun, “look, Olaf has been plotting with the Jarl’s son Wigliff; they intend to murder both you and the Jarl and take over…”

“Great!” Buffy threw her arms up in disgust, “Here we are trying to save the settlement from the Skrælingjar and those two morons are plotting murder and insurrection!” 

“They’ll have to die,” Thorfinn pointed out.

“Of course,” Buffy agreed with a curt nod, “at least Olaf will, I mean he’s been asking for a sword in the belly since we started out but…” Buffy hesitated for half a breath, “Wigliff…I’m not so sure.”

“But he wants you dead,” Sven pointed out angrily.

“Buffy’s right,” Eban interrupted, “if she or one of you were to kill Wigliff it could look as if Buffy was trying to take over,” he looked at Buffy uncertainly for a moment, “you don’t _want_ to take over, do you?”

“No!” Buffy shook her head, “No, I’m here to totally turn back Fimbulwinter and prevent Ragnarok. To do that we must have no expectation of reward…”

“Since when have you known fancy words?” Sven eyed Buffy suspiciously, “I mean ‘expectation of reward’?”

“Yeah,” Thorfinn nodded in agreement, “you’ve been talking to Harald haven’t you…I hope you’ve not caught that weird religion off him too!”

“Look guys,” Buffy groaned, “can we be serious about this for a moment?”

Thorfinn and Sven looked at each other and burst into gales of laughter.

“Fools,” Buffy caught the slight smirk on Eban’s face, “and don’t you start either,” she warned.

“Sorry,” sniggered Sven (he wasn’t sorry at all), “so who’s going to kill Olaf…” he looked at Buffy hopefully, “…can I do it?”

Looking up into Sven’s happy face, Buffy smiled. The guy was still hoping to have sex with her one day and would do almost anything to show he was worthy of her. But, Olaf Trollsplitter was strong; in fact he was the strongest man Buffy had come across. She’d come to believe that he might be part troll himself. Sven might be a Berserk and strong but Olaf would kill him easily in a stand up fight, sadly Buffy realised she’d have to do it.

“Sorry Sven,” Buffy smiled as she rested a hand on the Berserk’s arm, “this is something I’ve got to do myself…”

“But he’s a good two feet taller than you!” Sven pointed out.

“Which means I’ll be a hard target for him to hit,” Buffy shrugged, “I can run between his legs!”

Sven, Thorfinn and Eban all gave her the same disbelieving look.

“Hey, guys!” Buffy complained, “Have some faith will ya!”

0=0=0=0


	10. Chapter 10

10.

“I can totally do this,” Buffy told herself as she walked along the line of the ditch towards the spot where Olaf was working.

Once she’d decided to ‘have it out’ with Olaf, she’d started to try and work out how to start the fight; like she couldn’t just go up to the man and stick a sword in his belly. Okay, the sword sticking tactic had the advantage of being quick, simple and holding the least danger to herself, but it wasn’t very honourable. So, Olaf Trollsplitter was a loud mouthed, drunk who beat up his girlfriend regularly and molested the serving wenches, _but_ he was still a brave warrior and deserved to die like one. At first, Buffy had considered picking a fight with the man; perhaps throwing shovelfuls of earth over him while he worked in the ditch. But that all seemed too much like hard work and, hey, there was always the chance that he might act reasonably and refuse to fight her.

By the time all these thoughts had gone through Buffy’s head she found herself standing on top of the earth bank above where Olaf working. He was using a huge hammer to ram stakes into the side of the bank. Swallowing hard Buffy noticed how it was taking Olaf only one blow from his mighty hammer to drive each stake firmly into the earthen bank. Gulping a little, Buffy almost reconsidered the entire ‘lets kill Olaf’ plan. However, if she didn’t kill him now she’d have to be on the look out for the dagger in the dark and not be able to concentrate on defeating the Skrælingjar.

“Okay Olaf,” Buffy stood hands on hips as she looked down into the ditch, “I hear you want to kill me…” she sneered, “…come on then, give it your best shot, if you think your man enough…oh, and your grandfather died of old age.”

“HA!” Laughed Olaf as he started to climb out of the ditch, “So the little Shield Maiden dares challenge the great Olaf Trollsplitter!”

“Looks like,” Buffy replied; as the man got closer to her it became obvious to her just how _big_ the troll splitter really was.

“I’ll break your small breasted, narrow hipped body in two, little girl,” Olaf rumbled as he came to stand in front of Buffy.

“Yeah, right,” Buffy swallowed nervously as she looked up the giant’s nose, “what is it with you and narrow hipped girls?”

0=0=0=0

It didn’t take long for an area to be cleared for the duel and six shields to be found. Each fighter had three shields each; in the first part of the duel the objective was to break your opponent’s shield. In this way it was hoped that the duelling parties might have time to reconsider their desire to fight to the death and call off the duel when one or both fighters had had all his shields broken. Buffy knew that there’d be no backing out now, she’d accused the troll splitter of wanting to murder her, the fight could only end one way, or at least she hoped it did because the other way didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. Both Sven and Thorfinn stood by her as Buffy hefted her sword in her hand and picked out the first shield she was going to use.

“This is insane!” cried Eban as he hurried over to join the little group, “Have you seen the size of him,” he pointed at Olaf on the other side of the cleared area, “he’s a good cubit and a third taller than you are…”

“I had noticed,” Buffy replied with a nervous laugh.

“Have you seen his muscles?” Eban went on, “He’ll grind you into a paste!”

“Oh,” Buffy looked angrily at Eban her head cocked to one side, “thank-you _soooo_ much for that vote of confidence.”

“I know you’re strong, Buffy,” Eban said more quietly now he was standing next to her, “but he’s a troll splitter and you’re just a…a…” Eban shrugged but it had to be said, “…a woman; a strong, brave woman true but still, just a woman.”

“Hey!” Buffy’s sword was up and poking Eban in the chest in a flash, “You want I should totally deal with you when I’ve dealt with Olaf here?”

“OW!” Eban jumped back half a pace as he felt the tip of Buffy’s sword prick his chest, “No!” he wailed, “But…its just that I don’t want to see you killed!”

“Bastard!” Thorfinn snapped as he turned to glare at Eban, “You don’t want to see Buffy killed?”

“Erm…no?” Eban shook his head a little confused by the big, blond Viking’s reaction.

“You’d deny her-her chance of going to Valhalla?” Sven joined in the argument.

“But…!?” Eban looked at the three Vikings in confusion, he shrugged and sighed heavily, “Of course I wouldn’t stop Buffy from going to Valhalla, but, I’d rather she went later than sooner.”

“It’s okay guys,” Buffy glanced around at her two friends, “he’s a foreigner, he doesn’t understand.” She looked back at Olaf who was waiting patiently on the other side of the clearing, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Good luck,” called Thorfinn.

“Cut his legs off,” Sven suggested, “he won’t be so tall then!”

Shield held in one hand, sword in the other, Buffy banged her sword three times against her shield and advanced on her foe. Feeling the eyes of the villagers on her she smiled, they were in for a big surprise. To an impartial observer this fight looked to be a very one sided affair, it was obvious that the giant Olaf Trollsplitter would soon pound the little Shield Maiden into to the ground. But what the villagers didn’t know was, she was Buffy the Viking and although they might have heard the name they didn’t fully comprehend what it meant.

The two contestants circled each other warily as Buffy saw that Olaf wasn’t going to use a sword, he was using his great, heavy warhammer. If she let him hit her with the hammer it would smash her bones to splinters or cave in her skull. However, even for Olaf the hammer was heavy and difficult to control and she was small and fast and hopefully hard to hit.

With a loud roar Olaf raised his hammer, Buffy raised her shield to deflect the blow only to have it smashed to kindling as the hammer hit home. Backing away Olaf laughed quietly as Buffy looked at her broken shield. Shrugging she tossed the remains of the shield to one side and went to collect a knew one. Knocking her sword against the iron rim of the shield, Buffy indicated she was ready to start round two.

After Olaf had given three answering blows on his shield rim with his hammer the two warriors advanced on each other once again. This time Buffy hit Olaf’s shield a couple of good blows before Olaf swung his hammer once more and brought it smashing down on Buffy’s shield. Forced to her knees by the power of the blow, Buffy found herself kneeling in the dirt holding up a smashed shield. Throwing the ruined shield to one side once again, she climbed slowly back to her feet and trudged across the ground to pick up her third and final shield.

With Olaf’s laughter ringing in her ears, Buffy picked up her last shield. After bending to take hold of the shield her eyes happened to lock with Sven’s. In one glance she saw the concern the berserk had for her and her heart melted just a little towards him. As she stood up she winked and smiled at him, but by the time she’d turned to face Olaf an expression of fear at impending defeat was on her face. With seeming reluctance Buffy banged her sword against her shield rim for the last time. Again any unbiased observer would say that the Shield Maiden’s days were up and in a few moments she’d be lying in the dust with her blood soaking into the ground. But they didn’t know what _this_ shield maiden was capable of.

Laughing at the prospect of an easy victory, Olaf banged his hammer and shield together before advancing towards the apparently terrified shield maiden. Raising his hammer for the blow that would smash Buffy’s skull to dust the troll splitter brought down his weapon with all his strength and weight behind it. He’d smash her shield and shatter her skull with one blow he told himself.

Judging the moment carefully, Buffy watched as the hammer began to fall; the giant had committed himself now it was time for her to make her own move. Dropping her shield, Buffy dodged to her right; before the hammer was even half way to where she had been standing. Now she was crouching to Olaf’s left he’d never be able to change the course of his hammer to hit her. Swinging her sword, Buffy caught the giant behind his left knee neatly hamstringing him as the keen edge of her sword bit into his flesh. Roaring in pain, Olaf’s injured leg collapsed under him bringing him to his knees as his hammer thudded harmlessly into the earth. 

Continuing to turn, Buffy span through a complete three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. As she did so she grasped the hilt of her sword with both hands and straightened her legs. By the time she’d almost completed her turn her sword blade was at exactly the right height to hit the back of Olaf’s neck. The force of the blow, as the sword bit into the back of Olaf’s neck to cut through bone, muscle and cartilage, vibrated up the blade and momentarily numbed Buffy’s hands. The sword blade came free of Olaf’s neck with a satisfying meat cutting sound as the troll splitter’s head whirled away from his body as his still beating heart pumped blood high into the air to fall like red rain on the ground. Recovering from her attack Buffy walked away from Olaf’s body without a backward glance.

“You could have killed him at any time, couldn’t you?” Eban asked as he stared in shock at Olaf’s body.

“Yep,” Buffy nodded as she wiped the blood from the blade of her sword.

“Then why?” Eban gestured to the dead man.

“A message had to be sent,” Buffy turned and gestured to where Wigliff and his supporters stood, “I’m only sorry that it had to be Olaf who had to take it.”

Eban looked at Buffy his expression confused.

“Olaf might have been an oaf,” Buffy explained, “but he was strong and brave, we’ll miss his hammer tonight when the mist comes.”

Slipping her sword back into its scabbard Buffy walked away as some of the villagers picked up Olaf’s body while the others went back to work.

0=0=0=0

Lying on her back, Buffy looked up at the sky through a hole in the barn’s roof, the sky was starting to get darker, it would soon be time. Looking down at Sven’s head where it rested against her shoulder, she moved her hand and stroked his hair away from his face. Sven wasn’t a ‘pretty’ man, his face was scarred from the battles he’d been in and she doubted that anyone had ever called him handsome, but he wasn’t ugly either and…and well, she liked him. Sven the Berserk was a nice decent guy if you ignored the whole ‘Berserk’ thing.

However, she didn’t love him; after her fight with Olaf and with the prospect of almost certain death before the end of the coming night, Buffy had craved sexual release. If she’d had the time she would have happily found it in the arms of Lady Elfwin but she hadn’t and Sven was handy and wanted to shag her anyway so…

They’d run into the barn, spread a blanket on the soft straw and pulled off each others cloths in their eagerness to get at each others bodies. They’d made wild, enthusiastic, energetic ‘love’ in the hay until their passions were satisfied, then they’d both slept for a while. Now Buffy was awake and wondering what sort of person she was to make love to a man who she knew had feeling for her; but towards whom she felt nothing other than friendship.

Surely this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Vague memories of that time before, before she was Buffy the Viking, intruded into her mind. When she’d been Buffy the…what? She didn’t know what she’d been but she knew she’d been something or someone. Back in that strange land where the sun shone almost every day, where winter never came she remembered loving a man, in fact she remembered loving two men, one dark and dangerous the other…the other normal and ‘safe’?

But that was then, every time she tried to remember that place and those times it was as if she was grasping for a shadow. A vision that would retreat before her reaching hand until it was impossibly distant and it eventually dissolved into nothing. Shifting slightly Buffy heard the straw rustle under her, she smiled resignedly, all these thoughts of dimly seen worlds of sunshine and lovers were pointless. The chances were that by dawn tomorrow she’d be dead. Had she done enough to turn back Fimbulwinter and prevent Ragnarok? She hoped so. Now all she could do was to fight and die the best way she could and join her friends in Valhalla…where the dead, live forever.

Looking up through the hole in the roof once again Buffy saw that the sky had turned dark blue, she nudged Sven.

“It’s time to get ready,” she told him as his eyes opened and looked into hers.

0=0=0=0

Standing in the middle of the great hall, Buffy laced up the front of her padded leather jacket before quickly re-plating her braids. As her nimble finger worked quickly and without any input from her brain, she watched as quivers full of arrows and spears were passed up to the people who’d be defending the hall. Every villager, man or woman, who could help with the defence would be fighting tonight. The old and the children would be in the cellar along with a few of the younger women who’d have knives hidden under their aprons, they’d know what to do if the Skrælingjar got passed the warriors.

“Thunder!” Buffy called quietly, “It’ll rain.”

“No,” Snorri the Miserable replied as he armed himself, “its surf crashing against the cliffs just down the coast aways, the farmers call them ‘the thunderciffs’,” he shrugged, “but what can you expect of farmers?”

“Help me with this,” Buffy held out her mail shirt to Snorri.

“You realise we’re all going to die, don’t you?” Snorri asked as he held up Buffy’s mail shirt so she could wriggle into it.

“Well,” Buffy’s head appeared out of the head hole of her metal shirt, “maybe not all of us,” she pulled one of her braids free from where it had been caught between the metal links, “one or two of us might survive.”

“Why delude ourselves,” Snorri helped Buffy pull her shirt into place, “why pretend that there’s any chance of surviving? By tomorrow morning we’ll all be feasting in the halls of Valhalla…if the kitchens aren’t closed.”

“Y’know Snorri,” Buffy grinned as she buckled up the wide belt around her waist that helped take some of the weight of the mail off her shoulders, “if you’re trying to make me feel good about dying it’s totally not working.”

“No, I’m just trying to limit your expectations,” Snorri passed Buffy her helmet, “I wouldn’t want you to get to Valhalla and be disappointed.”

“Whatever…” Buffy would have said more but someone called from outside.

“THE MIST!”

Trotting out of the door with Snorri close behind her, Buffy looked out over the fields to the hills in the distance, sure enough there was mist beginning to shroud the dark, tree clad slopes.

“Told you,” Snorri whispered, “we’re all going to die.”

Giving the miserable Viking one last look before walking over to where Sven, Thorfinn and Eban stood behind the defences. Looking down she noticed someone had laid her weapons out on the ground. Picking up her sword she buckled it around her waist.

“What’s that?” Thorfinn asked raising his hand for silence.

“Drums,” Sven replied darkly.

“And there!” Eban pointed towards the mist shrouded hills.

Following Eban’s pointing finger they saw it snaking around the hill, a long line of fire, fuzzy through the mist.

“The Fire Serpent,” gasped Thorfinn as he stared out into the dusk, “They’ve raised the fire serpent.”

“There’s totally no such thing as fire serpents,” Buffy pointed out; she hung her shield across her back so both her hands were free, “or dragons.”

“What about the Dragon of the North Sea?” Snorri asked unhelpfully.

“Okay, okay,” Buffy sighed, “that’s the exception that tests the rule…but generally speaking there are no fire serpents or dragons.”

“Well what’s that?” Sven asked pointing to the line of fire as it got closer and the mist got thicker.

“It’s probably just a bunch of guys with torches,” Buffy suggested.

“Awful lot of men then,” Snorri observed.

“Snorri,” Buffy turned to look at the man, “would you mind standing somewhere else?”

Turning back to look out into the darkening evening, Buffy watched as the fire serpent got closer and closer. If it was just a bunch of guys with torches, well, like Snorri had said, there must be an awful lot of them.

0=0=0=0


	11. Chapter 11

11.

All through the settlement men and women made hurried last minute preparations as the Fire Serpent got closer. Standing near the gate, Buffy directed the placing of a heavily laden cart across the entrance to the village. Once the wagon was in place, she stepped back and looked around; villagers manned the stockade that ran around the settlement as her own Vikings stood in a huddle nearby waiting for her to tell them what to do. Turning away from the gate, Buffy jogged over to where her comrades waited.

“A Serpent of Fire,” Eban gasped as he watched the twisting line of the fire snake move towards the village.

“Breathing fire,” added Keitel Blacksmith.

“Come on guys,” Buffy cried encouragingly seeing no evidence of fire breathing whats-so-ever, “it’s totally just a bunch of guys with torches.”

“What’s that in the field?” Ivar the Boneless called from his vantage point up on the stockade.

Looking out across the surrounding fields Buffy saw a child running towards the village her blonde braids bouncing around her head as she ran desperate to get away from the approaching dragon.

“It’s a child…” breathed a voice.

“Look at her…” whispered another.

Looking to her left and right, Buffy saw that no one was going to move; even her own warriors seemed mesmerised by the sight of the running child and the approaching serpent.

“Time to do something foolishly brave,” Buffy told herself quietly before adding, “Open the gate.” No one moved, “OPEN THE GATE!” Buffy yelled as she started to trot towards the cart that blocked the entrance to the village.

Men heaved against the weight of the cart and moved it just enough to allow Buffy to pass. Pausing at the cart, Buffy discarded her shield and helmet. Drawing her sword she then unbuckled her sword belt and let it fall to the ground. Taking a deep breath she sprinted from the gate covering the ground towards the child rapidly, her sword in hand and her eyes on the Fire Serpent.

Her long strides ate up the ground and within moments Buffy found herself about half way towards where the Fire Serpent writhed and squirmed. Hearing a strange drumming sound like hundreds of feet or horses hooves beating on the ground, Buffy paused on a slight rise to get her bearing. Looking towards the Fire Serpent she saw them; hundreds of men wearing bear masks and skins, each carrying a torch in one hand and their weapons in the other, zigzagged down the side of the hill towards the village.

“I was right,” Buffy congratulated herself, “nothing but men.”

Turning away from the Skrælingjar and their torches, Buffy turned once more to look for the girl-child. Quickly catching sight of the running child, Buffy set off after her and rapidly caught up with the terrified child. Running up behind the girl, who couldn’t have been more than five or six, Buffy scooped her up in her left arm. Sprinting towards the settlement with the child under her arm, Buffy cast one last look over her shoulder at the Fire Serpent.

“Just men,” she told the child, “only men.”

0=0=0=0

Squeezing through the gap in the gateway Buffy returned the child to her worried mother. Hardly breathing heavily at all, she bent to retrieve her helmet, shield and sword belt.

“So you saw the Fire Worm?” Sven asked as he and Thorfinn ran over to join her.

“Infantry,” Buffy grinned as she buckled on her sword belt and sheathed her sword, “nothing but Skrælingjar carrying torches.”

“Oh!” Thorfinn replied sounding slightly disappointed, “I’d rather prefer a dragon.”

“Don’t be too disappointed, Thorfinn,” Buffy swung her shield onto her back once more, “there must be hundreds of them.”

For a moment the Vikings stared out into the thickening mist to where the torches flared in the gathering gloom. 

“It’s time,” Buffy announced quietly, she turned to face her friends, “Sven, Thorfinn, take the north; Harald, Ivar the south.” Buffy watched as her men started moving to their assigned posts, “Leif, you go with them, Snorri, Keitel Blacksmith you guard the west.” Turning Buffy smiled at Eban, “And you my fine Arab friend can stay with me.”

Wulfgar, the Jarl’s younger son ran up to Eban and tossed him a mail shirt, then trotting over to Buffy he handed her a fine Danish axe.

“My father said you should use it for him,” he told Buffy.

“Tell your father, I’m honoured,” Buffy grinned as she hefted the massive weapon in her hands.

The axe was a good four-and-a-half feet long, when she rested the blade on the ground the weapon was almost as tall as herself, but she didn’t care. In her memory, the memory of the girl that came from this place and not the girl from that sunshine world of her dreams, Buffy saw men with axes such as the one she held cut down horse and rider with a single blow. These were normal men, the feared Huscarls true, but normal men just the same. Imagine, she asked herself as she tested the edge of the axe with her thumb, imagine what death she could bring with such a weapon.

By now the lines of torches lay parallel to the village, lapping around the stockade as the Skrælingjar started to surround the settlement. In the dark, thanks to the enemy’s torches the Skræling’s movements were easy to see despite the mist and the darkness. Unnoticed in all the excitement of the preparations the sound of drumming had grown louder until it seemed to fill the entire world. The rhythmic thrumming made Buffy’s chest vibrate and filled her heart with apprehension. With an effort of will she pushed these thoughts to one side; she was Buffy the Viking, a little drumming held no fear for her. Looking over to where Eban stood as he struggled into his armour, Buffy smiled and walked over to give him a hand.

“More haste less speed,” Buffy helped pull the unforgiving metal down over Eban’s body, “Don’t worry, Ahmed,” she spoke using his correct name for the first time, “just stay near me, watch my back and you’ll be fine,” Looking up she saw a column of torches heading towards the stockade, “Of course,” she grinned as she slapped him on the shoulder, “I could be wrong!”

0=0=0=0

Holding her great axe in her hands Buffy looked out into the dark.

“Where’d they go?” she asked slightly disappointed.

“Perhaps they’ve gone home,” Eban joined her in starring out into the night, apart from the glow of torches coming from an area of dead grown in front of the village there was no sign of the Skrælingjar.

“Well that’s typical,” Buffy huffed, “Men!” she spat onto the ground, “They get you all worked up and then they piss off without a by-your-leave or making sure you’ve had your fun!” Buffy looked at the Arab beside her, “You can see now why I prefer girls.”

“Look!” Eban pointed out into the dark where a lone back lit figure, grotesque in his bear costume stood watching the settlement.

“What does he think he’s doing?” Buffy asked as she joined Eban in watching the lone Skræling; the man waved his arms in what was obviously a signal.

The sound of many feet, beating on the ground as they ran, came to Buffy’s hyper sensitive ears. Looking over to her left she saw a great line of torches heading towards the stockade at an oblique angle.

“HERE THEY COME!” Buffy yelled as loudly as she could.

Turning slightly she thrust her axe into Eban’s stunned hands, “Here hold this,”

Rushing over to one of the defenders she yanked the bow out of the man’s hands and picked up a quiver full of arrows.

“Ha-ha!” Buffy laughed as she notched an arrow and pulled back the bow string, “Now I have you!”

Loosing off an arrow into the night, Eban saw the shaft catch one of the lead Skrælingjar in the chest. The man fell, his torch falling to the ground. However, another Skrælingjar took his place and as they started to pass by the settlement they tossed their fiery brands over the stockade wall and into the village. As the torches landed young women, who were not helping their husbands or brothers on the walls, rushed to put out the fires with buckets of water or shovelfuls of earth.

Bending her bow as fast as she could, Buffy shot down Skræling after Skræling. But for every man she shot another seemed to rise and take his place. All too soon she found she’d shot off her last arrow, casting the now useless bow to one side she snatched her axe from Eban’s hand and prepared herself for some bloody axe work.

“SWORD!” Buffy yelled at Eban when she noticed he still hadn’t drawn his weapon.

“H-Have I mentioned I’m not a warrior?” Eban called as he took position to Buffy left and slightly to her rear.

“Don’t worry little brother,” Buffy laughed, “you soon will be!”

“Odd,” Eban told himself, “everyone keeps telling me that…”

He never got to finish his thought as a Skræling appeared over the top of the stockade and growled like a bear as he jumped down into the settlement. Taken by surprise, Eban didn’t move until the Skræling’s claw tipped club hit him in the chest. The sharp claws caught in the links of his mail shirt causing him little hurt. However, the pain jerked him back to the present. Lifting his sword he knocked the club to one side before trusting his blade into the Skræling’s belly. The Skræling groaned as he collapsed at Eban’s feet. Reversing his sword, Eban stabbed the Skræling as he lay on the ground until he was sure the savage was dead. Standing in shock above the dead Skræling, Eban looked at his handy work and was amazed; it had been so easy to take a man’s life. Pushing the Skræling’s bear head dress to one side Eban checked that the bear-like man was in fact a man.

“A man!” Eban gasped, Buffy had been right; there was no dragon, no bear-demons, these were just men, “A man!” he cried again, “JUST A MAN!”

Looking up Eban saw Skræling warriors climb over the stockade fence and fall upon the village’s defenders. Feeling a great anger in his heart, Eban lifted his sword and roared as he charged towards the savage warriors. Cutting left and right he made his bloody way along the line of the stockade, Ahmad ibn Fadlan had become a warrior at last.

0=0=0=0

Crouching like a tiger ready to pounce, Buffy held her axe in both hands as three Skrælingjar jumped from the fence and came towards her. With a loud, hi-pitched scream of rage she stepped towards them as she swung her great axe over her head to build up its momentum for her attack. Driven by inhumanly powerful muscles and its own weight the axe cleaved the air as it whooshed down on its victims. Biting into flesh and bone the axe easily cut through the three men, blood spurted and fountained into the air as the Skrælingjar fell in a bloody pile of body parts.

Wiping blood from her eyes with the back of her hand, Buffy took a step forward and punched with the end of her axe blade. Caught high in the chest the next Skræling to face her fell over backwards coughing blood over his chest as he died. Taking yet another step forward and turning slightly to her right, Buffy swung her axe again, this time the blade lopped off the Skræling warrior’s arm before burying itself halfway through the man’s chest.

Yanking the axe head free of her last victim, Buffy was just in time to see the wagon blocking the village entrance being pushed over and dragged to one side. Moving towards the breach, Buffy’s senses warned her of danger. Looking up she saw a shower of arrow-like spears fall out of the night sky towards her. Turning she crouched down as the arrow-spears thudded into the shield strapped to her back or sparked against her helmet and mail shirt. Even as she crouched there as the arrow-spears rained down around her some part of her mind recognised that the spear tips were made out of flint or bone.

Springing upright once more, Buffy raised her axe above her head and rushed, teeth bared and screaming in incoherent rage, at the Skrælingjar who were coming through the gate way. Hacking left and right Buffy soon had a pile of Skrælingjar lying bleeding at her feet. Pausing as she ran out of targets, she looked out into the dark to see a tidal wave of Skrælingjar racing towards her growling like animals and launching their arrow-spears at her from throwing sticks.

Standing in the gate way Buffy took the arrow-spears on her mail shirt or knocked them away with her axe. However there were far too many arrow-spears for her to stop them all. Feeling the stone tips slice into her arms and legs, Buffy gave ground and so was moving backwards when the wave of warriors hit her. Great sweeps of her axe sent many Skrælingjar to their ‘happy hunting grounds’. Blood soaked into the ground making it slippery as Buffy gave way before the Skrælingjar horde. As they pushed further into the settlement some Skrælingjar where able to break away from the main band and turn to attack the villagers who defended the stockade and ditch. Caught in the flank the villagers panicked and started to flee towards the supposed safety of the Great Hall.

Swinging her axe around her head, Buffy brought it around and down cutting another couple of Skrælingjar in half. Cursing horribly she fought to free her axe blade from where it had caught in a man’s ribcage. Seeing another Skræling come at her, his bear-claw club raised, she let go of her axe and punched the man in the face as he brought his club down onto her shoulder. The Skræling’s face exploded in a welter of blood and bone as Buffy buried her fist in his skull and the club glanced off her armoured shoulder.

Drawing her sword, Buffy pulled her shield around and took hold of the handle behind the bronze boss with her left hand. Un-assailed for the moment she took the time to see how the battle was going. Not well she told herself. The dark shapes of Skræling warriors seemed to be everywhere as the villagers fled back towards the hall; Buffy found she couldn’t blame them they weren’t warriors they were farmers. Turning to look out of the gate Buffy’s heart nearly failed her as she saw another avalanche of warriors running towards the opening growling and howling like all the fiends from hell.

“So this is how I die,” Buffy told herself calmly as she readied her sword and shield, “VIKINGS TO ME!” she yelled and was soon rewarded by the sound of her comrades coming to die with her, “SHIELDWALL! SHIELDWALL!” Buffy shouted holding her arms out to indicate where she wanted the shieldwall formed. Raising their shields to face the Skræling horde the Viking readied their swords and axes.

“Let’s not wait here to die, Buffy,” Thorfinn called, “let’s go meet them!”

“Why not!?” Buffy laughed, “Form wedge!” she ordered, “ADVANCE!”

Falling into an arrow shaped formation with Buffy at the tip the Vikings advanced towards the Skrælingjar as they flooded through the gate way.

“OUT! OUT! OUT!” Buffy started the chant as she hacked down the first savage warrior to face her.

Soon all the Viking’s were chanting with her as they crashed into the Skræling warriors who fell at their feet. Organised and on a narrow front that couldn’t be outflanked the Viking’s proved too much for the Skrælingjar and they started to give ground.

“OUT! OUT!” Buffy screamed into the faces of her foes before they fell to her sword, “DON’T LET THEM STAND, KEEP MOVING! OUT!” another Skræling screamed as she thrust her sword right through the man to impale his comrade behind, “OUT!” 

Heaving a dying warrior out of the way with her shield, Buffy found herself standing in the open outside the gate. No Skrælingjar rushed to attack her, peering into the night she saw Skrælingjar run off into the night as their drums called on them to stop the attack. Breathing heavily she looked around at her comrades who panted, exhausted, as the rested on their weapons. It was only then that she realised how few of them remained.

“No pursuit,” Buffy ordered needlessly; as she turned to walk back into the settlement she nearly stepped on the body of a Viking. “Snorri!?” 

Kneeling next to the downed warrior she dropped her sword and shield so she could cradle the man’s head in her arms. By the light of the burning houses set on fire by the Skrælingjar, Buffy could see that Snorri’s wounds were mortal.

“I’m sorry old friend,” Buffy held Snorri’s hand in her own, “but it looks like you’ll have to wait for me in Valhalla awhile before I join you.”

“Oh?” Snorri looked up into Buffy face and smiled as if at some private joke, “It could be worse…”

“How so?” Buffy asked.

“It might be raining,” with those words the first rain drops started to fall and wash the blood from Snorri the Miserable’s face.

“Now you’ve done it,” Buffy sighed as she laid his head gently on the ground.

0=0=0=0


	12. Chapter 12

12.

Sitting on a bench in the great hall, Buffy let Lady Elfwin fuss around her and treat her wounds. The young woman bound up the cuts made by the Skræling’s stone weapons with gentle fingers. Watching the girl as she worked Buffy wondered what those fingers would feel like if they were on her breasts or playing between her legs. However, Elfwin seemed blind to Buffy’s obvious desires. Sighing sadly, Buffy surrendered herself to the idea of more sex with Sven. Okay Sven was good…in fact he was very good, but he wasn’t a girl and if she wasn’t careful he’d start treating her like ‘his woman’ or even his wife!

But that would only happen if they survived the attacks of the Skrælingjar and after the losses of the previous night that didn’t look very certain. Hearing footsteps coming across the floor towards her, Buffy looked up to see Sven, Thorfinn, Eban and Harald come to a halt in front of her.

“Are you all that’s left?” Buffy asked quietly as she felt her heart start to sink. 

“Aye,” Thorfinn nodded his head, “Snorri, Leif, Keitel Blacksmith, Ivar the Boneless, all dead…the village is half burnt down and there’s not enough villagers left to defend all the stockade.” 

“It can’t be that bad surely,” Buffy forced a smile, “Harald managed to survive, perhaps his god is protecting him after all?”

“There’s still time to convert,” Harald held up his battered and bloodly holy book.

“Later…” Buffy shrugged, “…maybe,” she turned her eyes back to Thorfinn, “what of the Skrælingjar?”

“Gone,” Thorfinn replied.

“But they’ll be back,” observed the Lady Elfwin, “they always come back,” she explained. “Once they start something they always finish it, they won’t stop until we’re all dead.”

“But we must have killed a hundred of them!” Sven cried.

“Whatever,” Buffy rose from her seat and smiled her thanks to Elfwin before looking once more at her followers, “so what do you suggest we do?”

“They are men,” Eban pointed out, “not demons and men sleep.”

“You mean go out and find them?” Buffy asked, “Attack them instead of waiting here to die?”

“Do you really think that’s wise?” Harald asked as he fingered his book nervously.

“It’s better than sitting here waiting to be slaughtered,” Sven agreed, “but where do we go? How do we find them?”

“There is an old woman,” Elfwin informed them, “she was old when my mother was a girl, she has ‘the power’ perhaps she knows.”

“Why not,” Buffy shrugged again, “anyone have a better idea?” No one did, “Lets see what this old woman knows.”

0=0=0=0

“She’s quite mad,” Elfwin explained after she’d led the Vikings through the burnt out village to a cave under the settlement’s forge.

“Now she tells us,” Sven groaned.

“The perfect advisor, huh?” Buffy smiled.

They were led into a large rock chamber where they found the old woman lying on a bed of rags and mouldy skins, the stench of which nearly made Buffy sick. However her queasy stomach was soon forgotten when she caught a glimpse of the old woman’s face.

“Freya the Wise!” she gasped quietly.

“Who?” Sven asked as he came up behind Buffy.

“N-nothing…” Buffy shook her head, “…nothing let’s see what she’d got to tell us…”

“That the moon is made of green cheese, perhaps?” Sven replied softly.

“Whatever,” Buffy shrugged just as the old woman spoke.

“Oh, Elfwin…” the voice was the same as it had been back in the cave where Buffy had first met the old woman; purring and slightly mocking. “It’s a Queen Elfwin that fronts me now, does she not?”

“We seek your counsel, old woman,” Elfwin replied haughtily.

“We or she?” Freya’s eyes looked directly at Buffy, “Step closer Buffy…”

Buffy obeyed.

“Closer…” Freya ordered in a sing-song voice, “…so you have found your way here.”

“What am I to do to defeat the Skrælingjar, old woman?” Buffy asked straight out, she was getting a little fed up of the old woman’s games.

“Have you met your match, Buffy the Viking?” Freya chuckled at some joke known only to herself, “There is still a little for you to do before you can go home.”

“I get to go home?” Buffy asked, perhaps things weren’t as bad as they looked, “And my friends?”

“Whatever happens, Buffy the Viking, you will go home,” Freya glanced over Buffy’s shoulder at the others, “the rest? Who knows?”

“Tell me what I am to do?” Buffy demanded in a harsh whisper, “Where do I find the Skrælingjar, how do I defeat them?”

“The eaters of the dead…?” Freya’s eyes went unfocused for a moment as she slowly sat up; by the time she spoke again her eyes were clear and hard. “Wars are won in the will…Perhaps you’ve been fighting in the wrong field? Find the root, strike at the will…”

“How?” Buffy demanded loud enough for all to hear.

“Find the Mother of the Skrælingjar,” Freya told them, “she they revere, she is their will.”

“Like where do we look for her?” Buffy asked, getting information out of the old woman was like pulling teeth.

“She is in the earth,” Freya seemed exhausted by talking and started to lie down again, “Seek her in the earth.”

Realising that the old woman had said all she was going to say, Buffy turned to Sven and shrugged helplessly.

“And Buffy,” Freya’s words stopped Buffy in her tracks, “beware the leader of their warriors, he too you must kill.”

0=0=0=0

“Have we anything resembling a plan?” Eban asked as he prepared to mount his horse.

It was about an hour after the Vikings had visited the old woman, they had discussed what the wise woman had said and decided to go after the Skrælingjar anyway. As Sven had said it was better than waiting in the village to die. So, they had saddled their riding ponies and collected up their weapons and shields, they left their mail shirts behind and only wore the padded leather jackets that were normally worn under their mail.

“A plan?” Buffy mounted her horse, “The Arab wants a plan?” she laughed with real humour, “How about, we ride ‘til we find them and then kill them all?”

Riding out of the half ruined village and up into the forested hills, the Vikings soon found the Skræling’s trail.

“Even a child could follow this,” Thorfinn called out as he studied the marks left by what looked like hundreds of feet.

“They have no fear of us at all,” Harald observed clutching his book even tighter than normal, “it’s as if they don’t care if we find them or not.”

“Perhaps your god can strike fear into their hearts,” Buffy called out as she urged her pony onwards.

“Perhaps…” Harald said uncertainly as he began to question his faith for the first time, so far his god hadn’t been of much material help.

On they rode through the forest until they came to the top of a hill. Here the trees had been cut down until the trunks were only about the height of a man and all the branches had been cut off leaving bare stakes standing in the cold, wet ground. On top of each of these tree-stakes was a bear skull. Sitting on her horse Buffy looked on in wonder, she’d never believed that so many bears could have existed. 

“Perhaps they’re supposed to frighten us away?” Sven said with a laugh.

“They obviously don’t like company,” Thorfinn added.

“Maybe we should go back to the village,” Harald suggested.

“Bears…” gasped Eban.

“Bears?” Buffy turned and frowned at Eban.

“Think about it…” Eban continued his excitement growing, “…the clubs, the masks the skins…” he looked around at all the blank looks the Vikings were giving him, “…don’t you see?”

“Like, no,” Buffy shook her head.

“They think they’re bears!” Eban explained.

“Of course,” Buffy smiled, once Eban had pointed it out she could see it clearly.

“How do you hunt a bear in the winter?” Eban asked.

“You go into its cave and…” Thorfinn began but was soon interrupted.

“Where is the cave?” Buffy asked.

“In the earth,” Eban replied, “we’ll find the mother in the earth.”

“You know,” Buffy rode over to Eban and slapped him on the shoulder, “if I wasn’t already shagging Sven I’d totally shag you!”

“You’re shagging Sven!?” Thorfinn cried out.

“What of it?” Buffy asked as she rode back to the head of the column.

“I mean…” Thorfinn looked at Buffy pityingly, “…Sven!?”

“Thorfinn…” Buffy pointed on down the track, “…go scout.”

They rode on but it wasn’t long before they heard the sound of Thorfinn’s pony coming back towards them.

“Many campfires,” Thorfinn called as he brought his horse to a halt, “in the next glen.”

“How far?” Buffy wanted to know. 

“A hundred paces maybe a little more,” Thorfinn explained.

“Dismount, leave the horses here,” Buffy ordered.

Climbing down from their horses the Vikings checked their weapons and unhooked their shields from their saddles. Silently they followed Thorfinn through the close ranks of trees until they came to the edge of a low cliff that overlooked the glen where the Skrælingjar had camped.

“Is there a cave?” Buffy whispered as she looked over the edge of the cliff.

“I didn’t see one,” Thorfinn replied.

Looking up and down the narrow glen, Buffy saw that most of the Skrælingjar were camped along side the stream that tumbled amid the rocks that lay down the centre of the little valley. With luck the sound of the water going over the rocks would drown out any noise that they might make, at least for a while. Searching for any sign of a cave, Buffy noticed a man walking towards the cliff below them. Sliding back into the cover of the trees a little, Buffy watched the man as he appeared to walk straight into the rock face below where she lay. Crawling forward again, Buffy hung her head over the side of the rock face and looked down.

“The cave!” she whispered excitedly to her friends as she turned to look at them, “It’s right beneath us!”

Discarding her shield Buffy got up into a crouch and balanced on the cliff edge, she drew her sword.

“What are you going to do?” Eban demanded.

“I’ll jump down and kill the guards while you guys climb down,” Buffy explain as a murderous fire lit her eyes.

“You can’t jump!” Eban cried in shock, “It’s too far, you’ll break both your legs if you don’t kill yourself.”

“As Harald would say,” Buffy grinned like a short, blonde, heavily armed, maniac as she stood up, “have some faith!”

Buffy laughed as she stepped off the edge of the cliff and disappeared from sight.

0=0=0=0

“That was odd,” Buffy told herself as she landed; as she had jumped she seemed to remember jumping off a great tower into a ring of blue fire.

But there was no time to examine these memories as the two Skræling guards where starring in surprise at the short Viking warrior who’d seemingly dropped from the heavens. Lifting her sword, Buffy cut down both of the guards with economical swings of her weapon. Hardly making a sound the two dead men fell to the ground. Glancing upwards, Buffy saw that her friends were still only about half way down the cliff.

“Whatever,” Buffy shrugged, “No time to waste…”

Stepping through the cave entrance she found herself in what appeared to be a guard room complete with guards. The three surprised Skrælingjar wasted precious seconds starring at her before they moved to pick up their weapons. With a shout Buffy laid about herself with her sword. Quickly she cut the Skræling into manageable chunks and was wiping the blood from her blade as her friends followed her into the cave.

“You don’t waste much time,” Sven observed.

“Hey!” Buffy grinned, “What can I say, I’m a Shield Maiden on a mission…come on, lets go!”

Grabbing some torches the raiders plunged into the dark tunnel that led slightly down slope from the guard room. It wasn’t long before they came out into a large torch lit chamber where twenty or so Skrælingjar seemed to be holding a religious meeting of some kind. At first the Skrælingjar went on chanting and banging their drums, but that all changed as the Vikings fell on them, swords and axes in hand. Soon the chamber was full of the sound of screaming and dying Skrælingjar as Buffy and her Vikings hacked their way through the crowd.

“Now this is what I call fun!” Thorfinn called out over the screams of the dying Skrælingjar.

“AAAAAGH!” yelled Sven as the ‘red mist’ of the ‘Berserker-gang’ took him over; he hacked his way through the crowd sending severed limbs and blood in all directions.

Suddenly and far too quickly for the Vikings there was no one left to kill.

“What now?” Eban asked as he wiped blood from off his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“We must find the mother,” Harald reminded them, “she can’t be that far away if they were holding a service here.”

Before anyone could answer more Skrælingjar appeared from the passageway leading to the surface and fell on the Vikings in a mad rush.

“WE’LL HOLD THEM HERE,” Thorfinn yelled at Buffy over the screams of dying men and the clash of weapons, “YOU FIND THE MOTHER AND KILL HER!”

Torn between going to help her friends and going to kill the mother, Buffy hesitated for a moment. Eventually duty won out and she turned away from the fight and started to look for somewhere the mother could be. Grabbing a torch she searched along the wall of the chamber. Even so she almost missed the passage entrance as it was hidden by a bearskin. Pulling the heavy animal skin to one side, Buffy stepped into the chamber beyond. Only to be immediately attacked by a screaming savage who beat at her with a claw tipped club. Instinctively raising her sword to ward off the blow, Buffy deflected the club enough so the Skræling didn’t dash out her brains. Instead the club hit her on the breast, although her leather jacket saved her from any serious hurt the blow still made her gasp with pain and almost double over. Seeing red, Buffy thrust out with her sword and stabbed the savage through the heart.

“OW! That hurt!” Buffy rubbed her bruised breast as she placed her booted foot on the Skræling’s chest and pulled her sword free from his body.

With her sword in one hand and the torch in the other, Buffy took a moment to take in her surroundings. The chamber must have been fairly close to the surface because tree roots hung down from the roof. Here too there were skulls decorating the chamber but not bear skulls, these were human skulls. Taking a step Buffy’s foot crunched on something, looking down she saw that the floor was scattered with what looked like human bones.

“Ewww,” Buffy cried as she stepped gingerly across the macabre floor covering; she still had to find the mother before her friends were overwhelmed.

Going through an arch that had been hacked out of the living rock, Buffy found herself in yet another chamber. This one had a fire in the centre and a hole in the roof to let out the smoke and standing next to the fire was The Mother.

Buffy hadn’t really known what she’d been expecting, she supposed that if she thought about it she’d expected to see a fat old woman sitting on a throne of skulls. Whatever she had expected, she’d not expected to see the rather pretty girl who was standing in front of her now. Okay, Buffy thought as her eye travelled up and down the girl’s semi-naked body, she needed a bath (Buffy could smell her from several paces away), get rid of the paint, comb her hair and she’d look more than pretty. Buffy would’ve bedded her in a flash.

The girl however had other ideas; she crouched and snarled at Buffy like some sort of wildcat. Going into her own fighting crouch Buffy realised that the girl intended to fight her, she wasn’t going to go into the dark without a struggle. Lifting her sword, Buffy noted that the only weapon the girl seemed to have was a bear claw attached to the fingers of her right hand. With a shout, Buffy rushed at the girl swinging her sword as she did so. The Skræling girl jumped to one side avoiding Buffy’s initial rush and slashing at her with her claw.

“OWWW!” Buffy cried as the claw caught her on the left arm just above where her mail shirt’s sleeve would’ve been had she been wearing it.

Pivoting lightly on the balls of her feet Buffy altered the direction of her sword swing even as it cut through the air. The blade caught the girl in the small of her back and although morally injured the girl wasn’t dead and still had some fight left in her. Jumping back as the girl took another swipe at her Buffy raised her sword and brought it sweeping down towards the girl. The blade cut into The Mother’s neck and her head fell onto the ground a few feet away from her body which toppled over to lie amid the bones covering the floor.

“Buffy!” Thorfinn cried as he pulled Sven, who was still hacking at invisible foes even now, into the chamber, “Are you alright did you find the mother?”

“Yeah,” Buffy gestured with her sword at the body; she saw Eban back into the chamber, “where’s Harald?”

“The Skrælingjar got him,” Thorfinn replied as he struggled to stop Sven from going back out into the outer chamber again, “we’re trapped.”

“No there’s a hole in the roof,” Buffy explained as she walked over to Sven and hit him over the head with the pommel of her sword.

Suddenly Buffy felt very tired and the cut on her arm started to ache.

“Come on, help Sven up, we better get out of here,” she pointed towards the hole.

Having been hit over the head the red mist had left Sven’s eyes as he staggered about as if drunk. Thorfinn boosted his friend up through the hole and then followed behind him. Next it was Buffy’s turn, she jumped up to grab the edge of the hole but found she couldn’t reach it. Puzzled she looked up at the hole it was only a couple of feet or so above her yet she didn’t have the strength to jump even that high.

“Are you alright?” Eban asked.

“Weak,” Buffy moaned.

“Here let me help,” sheathing his sword, Eban pushed Buffy up through the hole where Thorfinn grabbed her and pulled her the rest of the way.

Taking one last look around the smoky chamber, Eban jumped up and pulled himself up through the hole and out into the fresh, clean air of the forest.

0=0=0=0


	13. Chapter 13

13.

“She’s dying,” Elfwin told Eban as she mopped the sweat from Buffy’s brow.

“How long?” Eban looked down to where Buffy lay wrapped up in a fur near one of the fires in the Great Hall.

After defeating the Skrælingjar and killing their ‘Mother’ the Vikings had ridden back to the settlement. Eban remembered how he and his comrades had had to hold Buffy in her saddle as she shivered and became weaker by the minute.

“The fever will take her by morning,” Lady Elfwin replied sadly.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Eban knew the Northwoman would have done everything she could but he still had to ask.

“I tried to draw the poison with a poultice but…” Elfwin sighed, “…if only I could have got to her sooner.” The Northwoman shrugged, “The poison has spread through her body. There is nothing I can do now except make her last hours as comfortable as I can.”

“Will she suffer?” Eban asked quietly.

“No,” Elfwin shook her head, “I think she’ll sleep now until the end.”

0=0=0=0

“HIGHER!” laughed the girl with the long brown hair.

“Higher, huh?” Buffy pushed the swing as hard as she could; her sister laughed and squealed with joy as the swing took her higher into the clear blue sky.

Swinging back towards the ground, Buffy stepped back as she caught the swing ready to give it another push. But before she could she found herself standing in the doorway to her bedroom facing an angry Dawn.

“I can stand here if I want…” Dawn snapped as she crossed her arms over her small breasts and glared up at her sister.

Swinging the door shut, Buffy shut her sister out of her room, just like she’d shut her out of her life ever since she’d become…become what? Telling herself that it was all for Dawn’s safety Buffy stood and stared at the door, she could almost feel her sister’s resentment through the wood. For a moment she wanted to open the door and take her sister in her arms and hug her and tell her she was sorry for shutting her out. But because she was what she was she didn’t. Instead she just stood there and looked down at her hands.

Unexpectedly Buffy next found herself standing in a field of the dead, bloody bodies and hacked off limbs lay all around her. Looking down at herself she saw her mail shirt, its links torn and ripped apart, she saw her bloody hands…there was just so much blood she felt like she’d never be able to wash it all of.

“What am I?” Buffy asked an uncaring universe as she held her bloody hands in front of her face.

“I thought you knew, Buffy the Viking,” Freya the Wise purred in her ear, “you’re a hero the warrior of the people.”

This time when Freya spoke there was no mocking tone in her voice instead she sounded sad as if saying farewell to an old friend for the last time.

“I thought you understood,” repeated the old woman, “death is your gift, you gave that gift once, but you must give that gift again before you can go home to your sister and your friends.”

“But what about my friends here,” Buffy wanted to know, “what of them?”

“They managed,” Freya smiled, “don’t worry, after all they’re all long dead…long dead,” she repeated, “as am I…”

Freya’s face faded to be replaced by the concerned face of Lady Elfwin who sat by Buffy’s bed.

“You’re awake?” Elfwin smiled down kindly at Buffy, “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Yes,” Buffy smiled as she reached out to take one of Lady Elfwin’s hands in her own, “I think I would like some Spam…”

0=0=0=0

“Her fate is sealed,” Thorfinn sat next to Eban at the long table in the Great Hall; on hearing that Buffy had woken up her friends had all come back into the hall to share her last hours with her.

“You don’t know that,” Eban whispered.

“The Skeane is tied,” explained Sven who sat on Eban’s right, “the weave was settled long ago.”

“You totally wearing that long face for me?” Buffy asked Eban in a surprisingly strong voice, she even managed a smile.

“I cannot help it,” Eban spoke, his voice almost cracking.

“I have only got these hands,” Buffy looked down at her hands, hands that were now washed clean of blood, “I’ll die with nothing…”

“You will be buried as a Hero,” Jarl Hrothgar told her from where he sat in his great, throne-like chair.

“A girl might be thought totally worthy if someone was to write the story of her deeds,” Buffy said as she once more turned her head to look at Eban, “Like she might be remembered, y’know?”

“Such a woman might be thought wealthy indeed,” agreed Eban promising himself as he spoke that if he survived the night, he would write the saga of Buffy the Viking so she would be remembered for all time.

0=0=0=0

It was late afternoon or early evening when Eban came out from the great hall into the bright afternoon sun. Pausing to let his eyes adapt he saw Sven and Thorfinn sitting in the sun drinking from mugs of ale. They looked up at him as they heard his approach; both men silently asked the same question.

“She’s travelling to the other side,” Eban told them quietly, “She grips her sword as if she will not wake.”

“Think no more of these things,” Thorfinn told him, “you must rest now.”

“I’m not tired,” Eban sat down next to his friends.

“Rest,” called Sven, “the Skrælingjar will want vengeance for killing the Mother, they will come soon.”

“Again?” Eban turned to face his friends his eyes dark with anger, did this mean that the death of all his comrades had been for nothing?

“We killed the Mother,” Thorfinn explained, “but not the leader.”

“As long as he lives,” Sven picked up from where Thorfinn had left off, “they will come back to fight us.”

“When?” Eban wanted to know.

“Tonight,” Thorfinn lifted his mug of ale to his lips and drank.

With a heavy sigh, Eban stood up and walked a little way away from his friends, he looked out over the remains of the burnt out village and shook his head in despair.

“The evening lasts so long here,” he told himself, “not like home. I don’t think tonight there will be…” The sound of drumming from the surrounding hills cut off what he was about to say. “…fog.”

Hearing the drumming, Sven and Thorfinn cast away their mugs and stood up. Looking around they saw the fog start to fill the valley in front of the village as dark clouds started to cover the setting sun.

“We can’t hope to hold the stockade,” Sven pointed out.

“Then we will make our stand in the Great Hall,” Thorfinn suggested and got an answering nod from Sven, “Come on little brother,” Thorfinn laughed, “more work to do!”

0=0=0=0

Rapidly the warriors roused the villagers and started them on fortifying the Great Hall. Looking out over the valley, Eban saw the mist thickening but he saw no sign of the Skrælingjar or the Fire Serpent. Looking up he saw that the clouds now stretched from horizon to horizon, how rapidly the weather changed in these Northlands he told himself. Inside the hall, villagers moved the heavy tables to block up the windows and doors; weapons were passed out to grimfaced men and women as the children were hurried down into the cellar.

Passing a babe in arms down to one of the older children, Sigrun looked up to see Lady Elfwin standing in the doorway. The Lady passed the serving girl a cloth, opening the cloth Sigrun found four sharp knives.

“When the time comes,” Lady Elfwin said quietly, “you know what to do?”

Nodding Sigrun looked at the knives; when the time came she would kill the children before falling on the Skrælingjar forcing them to kill her; she would not die by her own hand if there was a chance of taking at least one enemy with her.

0=0=0=0

Turning away from the cellar door, Lady Elfwin strode across the floor of the Great Hall calling out instructions to villagers as they moved furniture and storage barrels towards the barricades. Looking for a weapon for herself she noticed Buffy struggle to her feet and try to put on her mail shirt and pick up her weapons.

“No!” cried Lady Elfwin as she rushed to Buffy’s side, “You’re too weak to fight.”

“Too weak?” Buffy laughed as she staggered and almost fell down, “Never…” she grabbed hold of Elfwin’s dress with fingers that were as strong as iron, “I’ll show them ‘weak’…help me arm myself,” Buffy looked at Elfwin and saw the girl with the red hair from the village. “I’m sorry I killed you,” she whispered, “but now I have to go…death is my gift.”

“Of course,” Lady Elfwin nodded; the Shield Maiden was obviously seeing things from her past or perhaps her future, but she would help her arm like she’d helped her father, “we must send you to Valhalla properly attired.”

Helping Buffy on with her mail shirt, Lady Elfwin looked up as the sound of drumming got louder. For the first time she found she didn’t have to pretend that she wasn’t frightened, the strength and determination of the Shield Maiden who struggled even now to stay standing had filled her with a courage she’d never known before. When the time came she would face her own death bravely and with a clear eye.

0=0=0=0

“Kill the Mother she said,” Sven muttered as he heaved a barrel into place upon the barricade, “kill their leader and they will break.”

“We’ll soon find out if she was right,” Thorfinn told him as he helped Sven give the barrel one last shove into place, he glanced up as the first rain drop hit his head, “At least we won’t have to worry about fire.”

Standing for a moment as the rain got heavier, Thorfinn looked out into the mist and saw no sign of the savages he knew were out there.

“They’re all terrified,” Sven said from behind him referring to the villagers, “ready to break and run.”

“Ha!” Thorfinn looked over his shoulder and grinned at his friend, “You know something? I’m not too happy myself!”

“I wish we had Buffy with us,” Sven put his hand on his friend’s shoulder to give him courage.

“It’s a small matter,” Thorfinn said slowly as he looked back out towards the forest, he was sure he’d seen something move.

“Here,” Eban appeared his arms loaded down with weapons and mail shirts.

“Prepare yourselves,” Thorfinn advised as he started to put on his armour and the rain came down even harder.

Glancing over his shoulder as he laced up the front of his shirt, Thorfinn saw the Skrælingjar start to move into position. He wasn’t sure but he didn’t think there were quite as many as there once had been.

“They’re not even bothering to surround us,” Sven pointed out.

“What does that mean?” Eban asked as he secured his own armour.

“It means, little brother,” smiled Thorfinn, “that they’ll probably come right at us in one column.”

“Overwhelm us by weight of numbers,” Sven agreed and then added, “not that it’ll take long.”

“I’ve squandered my days with plans of many things,” Eban told his friends, “dying here was not among them, but at this moment I want only to live my last few minutes well.”

“Well said little brother,” Sven clapped Eban on the back and almost knocked him to his knees.

“This isn’t how I’d imagined my last moments either,” Thorfinn agreed, he noticed the look Sven gave him and shrugged, “well, I always thought it would be drier!” 

“Here they come,” Eban drew his sword as the Skrælingjar started to run towards the village.

“Die bravely,” Sven told his friends, “We’ll all meet again in Valhalla.”

Standing on a bench to get a better look at the enemy, Thorfinn was distracted by the sound of something metal being dragged across the ground. Turning around to see what was causing the noise he saw Buffy stagger from the door of the Great Hall, the weight of her mail shirt seemed to drag at her shoulders as she pulled her great axe along behind her like some incredibly dangerous child’s toy; she noticed Thorfinn watching her.

“You totally thought I’d let you guys have all the fun, didn’t you?” Buffy stood leaning against the shaft of her axe with the rain plastering her long blonde hair to her head. “I couldn’t face dying alone,” she told her friends quietly, “come stand by me.”

Slowly the Vikings formed a short ragged line either side of Buffy the Viking. Outside the village the Skrælingjar ran over the fields towards the settlement, in a few moments the big pale people who’d invaded their lands would all be dead and they would have vengeance for The Mother. The drumming stopped suddenly as the leader fought his way to the front of the warband, he would be the first to strike the blow that would drive the invaders from their lands.

Up in the settlement the four warriors stood their ground, Buffy felt herself slipping away and stumbled out of line.

“Freya give me strength for just a few more moments,” she felt Sven’s strong arm holding her up, she smiled her thanks, “Y’know,” she told him, “for a guy you were a totally good shag? Given time I might have grown to like it…”

“There,” Sven shrugged, “always said that all you needed was a good shagging.”

“Ha!” Buffy laughed feeling new strength enter her arms and legs, “You were good but not that good!”

Pushing Sven away Buffy looked out at the advancing Skrælingjar.

“Not long now Dawnie,” she said quietly before raising her voice so her friends could hear, “Lo there do I see my father. Lo there do I see my mother and my sister,” Buffy could see her mother standing behind Dawn seemingly only an arm’s length away.

“Lo there do I see the line of my people,” the Vikings joined in as the Skrælingjar screamed their vengeance and climbed over the outer stockade, “back to the beginning, they do call to me, they bid me take my place amongst them,” the Skrælingjar where now an easy spear cast away. “In the Halls of Valhalla,” Buffy picked up her great axe and hefted it in both hands, “where the brave may live…FOREVER!”

On the last word Buffy brought the great axe sweeping down like a silver blur to cut the first Skræling in half from shoulder to waist. Pulling her axe free she took a step forward and swung the axe again, down went another Skræling as the axe smashed his head to bloody pulp and cut halfway down through his chest. On her left Sven fought with sword and axe, cutting his way into the middle of the Skræling horde and leaving a trail of severed limbs and bleeding bodies behind him. On her right Thorfinn used sword and shield to batter down any who dared oppose him while Eban cut and thrust with his ridiculous sword as the bodies fell around his feet.

Advancing another step and cutting down two Skrælingjar with an easy horizontal blow, Buffy knew that this couldn’t last. There were simply too many savages for them to kill them all, eventually they would tire and the Skrælingjar would overwhelm them and they’d all die, she had to find the leader before it was too late.

Taking off a man’s head, Buffy dodged to one side just too late to completely avoid the spear thrust to her side. The stone spearhead shattered against her mail but the blow almost knocked her off her feet. Her strength was ebbing quickly and she didn’t have much time left. Planting her feet firmly on the wet, blood slick earth, Buffy resumed her slow but steady advance. She no longer knew or cared where her friends were, she knew they’d be doing the best they could. Catching a screaming warrior under the chin with the point of her axe Buffy watched as his head exploded as the axe blade ripped open his skull. As the man fell and his blood stopped spraying into the air, Buffy saw the leader not more than two yards away. With a shout of joy she stepped towards the man, her axe cocked over her shoulder, she saw his snarling face, his great bear headdress, the hate in his eyes.

The leader swung his club at Buffy’s head just as she started her axe towards his. The club hit her on the side of the head and she felt her own warm blood mix with the cold rain and ooze down the side of her face and under her mail. However, the great axe, seemingly with a mind of its own, continued towards the leader to hit him on the shoulder. Biting into flesh the axe smashed its way through bone and cartilage until it was stopped by the man’s rib cage.

All around her Buffy became aware of the Skrælingjar wailing in despair as their leader fell. Heaving her axe free of the man’s body she lifted it in both hands and smashed it into the leader’s still screaming face. The Skræling slowly toppled over like one of the great trees of the forest to land with a splash of bloody mud at Buffy’s feet.

Slowly at first but with increasing speed the Skrælingjar started to give way, none dared to confront the lone warrior with the terrible axe. They eddied around her like she was a rock standing in a river. Standing over the dead leader, Buffy looked up and around, all she could see were bodies and pieces of bodies as the rain washed her blood from her face and hands.

Dragging her axe behind her through the mud, Buffy staggered over towards the barricade, she felt tired, oh, so tired. Stumbling against the rough defences she found a place to sit down. Sitting there like a Queen upon her throne, Buffy looked out over the battlefield to see the great, black, battle-birds start to circle the field.

“Buffy?”

Buffy opened her eyes to see Freya bending down to look into her eyes.

“You can rest now, for a while,” Freya smiled, somehow she didn’t seem so old anymore, “go home and look after your sister, farewell Buffy the Viking.”

Moments later her friends found her sitting with her back resting against the barricade, in her right hand she held her great axe while her left rested on her thigh. Her eyes starred unseeingly out over the battlefield.

0=0=0=0

Waking up in the dark, Buffy knew with a certainty that couldn’t be denied that she’d died and she’d gone somewhere where she’d been loved. That somehow she was back in her own world and she was lying in her coffin. With a strength born of the slayer added to her panic at being buried ‘alive’, Buffy fought her way out of her coffin and towards the surface.

The End.


End file.
